


Attention

by ydysprosium



Series: Renegade AU [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Humor, BDSM, Bondage, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Canon-Typical Violence, Community: dckinkmeme, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson is Renegade, Emotional Hurt, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Mercenaries, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Injuries, POV Dick Grayson, Puns & Word Play, Spanking, Timeline What Timeline, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:21:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 27,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25059904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ydysprosium/pseuds/ydysprosium
Summary: Dick is feeling neglected after Bruce replaces him as Robin, then notices he gets taken care of when injured. He purposefully gets injured a few times, desperate for affection from Bruce. Slade takes advantage.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Series: Renegade AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931845
Comments: 286
Kudos: 631





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> From the DC Kink Meme prompt here: https://dckinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/766.html?thread=178174#cmt178174
> 
> A/N: I haven't finished this yet, but I've gotten about halfway through, I'm mostly posting it now to re-write parts, and motivate myself to finish.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.
> 
> (Comments and feedback are always appreciated.)

It wasn’t like Dick was jealous of Jason, not really. And it wasn’t as if Dick needed constant affirmation from Bruce or anything, he was his own hero now, Nightwing, and he had his own city to take care of, so really, he understood if Bruce was distant most of the time.

Still, it would be nice if Bruce actually showed he _cared_ once in a while, aside from emotionless suggestions on improving his crime-fighting, and the silent judgement-filled batglares that Dick received whenever he visited the Batcave.

“Are you sure you’re eating well?” Bruce asked gruffly as they suited up for a joint mission.

Dick whipped his head around. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Last time Jason went over to visit you, he said your refrigerator contents consisted of expired milk, one pickle, and mustard.”

Dick huffed, and angrily glanced over at Jason, who seemed to be extremely intent on adjusting his boots. Figures. Now at least he knew Jason was loyal to Bruce over him, and didn’t have to worry about bribing Jason with ice-cream for breakfast. “I’m busy,” Dick said, shrugging to try and play off the critique like no big deal. “I eat a lot of take-out and cereal.”

Bruce gave him a disbelieving stare. “Nutrition is important. You should at least stock up on supplement mix if you have no time to prepare proper meals.”

Dick made a face. “Those supplement shakes are gross, Bruce.” Plus, it wasn’t like he had money to throw away buying the expensive things. Finances were tight. Not that Bruce would understand.

Bruce grunted in disapproval. “You can add fruit or flavoring. I’ll have Jason show you how. Also, remind me to have Alfred make some prepared meals for you to take home with you.”

Dick felt his face flush with a mixture of anger and shame. Reduced to having Jason show him how to make a nutritional shake more palatable. How incompetent did Bruce think he was? And now Bruce was going to inconvenience Alfred to make Dick his continued charity case. The ex-sidekick, former ward who could barely afford rent and couldn’t even manage to feed himself properly. A failure at being a functional adult. “Thanks,” he muttered, so that Bruce would stop expectantly staring at him.

Bruce just grunted his approval, his emotional quota apparently met for the day. He handed them the notes on Killer Crocs previous sightings, the location of his most recent victim, their plan to take him in, and the air filtration masks they’d need to walk through the sewer.

-

“Hey, I’m sorry about earlier,” Jason said as they trudged through the rat-infested sewers together. “But B worries about you, and he’s loaded, so why not let him know you’re living on dry cereal?” Jason’s face was sickeningly earnest. “I’ve had to go hungry before, s’ not fun.”

Dick felt a pang of guilt. Jason wasn’t all that bad, not really. ”I’m trying to make it on my own,” he said. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Jason gave him an unimpressed look. “I’ve already been on my own. Yeah, I understand not wanting charity from a deadbeat parent, but B is cool. Plus, it’s not like the money even means anything to him.”

Dick kicked at a piece of floating sludge. Okay, Jason was definitely still on his shit-list of ‘too-loyal to Bruce’. “Well, I guess I won’t need to bribe you with candy bars and ice cream anymore,” Dick said, attempting to keep some of the bitterness out of his voice.

“Hey, I thought-” Jason began, but was interrupted by an enormous splash further down in the tunnels. “Do you think that’s-”

“Quiet,” Dick hissed. “Message B with our location. I’ll go closer to investigate.”

Jason rolled his eyes, but did as he was told, tapping on his communicator to alert Batman.

Dick crept forward, picking his way carefully among the putrid refuse. The water was deeper up ahead, and the murky surface rippled with movement underneath. He was up to his waist in sewer sludge, and consoled himself with the thought that Bruce would be paying to clean his Nightwing suit this time. A few bubbles surfaced, then Killer Croc emerged with a giant splash and roar.

“Jason, set up the net,” Dick shouted, then jumped on Croc’s back, and clung to the giant as he writhed underneath him.

\--

It was late when they returned to the Batcave, wet tired and miserable, but ultimately victorious. Jason at least, hadn’t tired of retelling the story of how the two of them managed to subdue Croc all on their own. Bruce was a little grumpy at first, but he did look pleased that Dick and Jason managed so well together.

Dick wasn’t hurt bad from his fight with Killer Croc. Just a few bruised ribs and a nasty gash on his arm that’ll need stitches. Still, it was nice to see Bruce removing the cowl and looking at him with genuine concern in his eyes.

“We need to clean your wound so it doesn’t get infected,” Bruce said, grabbing Dick’s arm and pulling him towards the medbay.

“Bruce, why don’t you let him shower first,” Jason shouted, probably meaning well, even if he didn’t understand that this was the first time Bruce had looked at Dick as anything other than an annoyance in months. “We’re all gross, and who wants to sit in their own stench while they get stiches?”

Still Jason’s suggestion does make sense, and Dick had to admit it was nice to shower first before having Bruce grab him softly by the arm and guide him over to a seat. 

Jason whistled as he looked at the size of the cut. “Wow, I’m glad you were the one to jump on Croc! That’d probably go right through my arm!”

“Jason, get the suture set,” Bruce grunted as he started gently cleaning the cut. “It’s going to be at least ten stitches,” he told Dick. “Do you want something for the pain?”

Dick nodded. Ten was a lot. Jason distracted him with stories of crime-fighting as Bruce firmly held his arm in place and drew the curved needle through his skin. Afterwards, Bruce hugged him briefly.

The rest of the weekend was lovely. Bruce insisted on Dick staying, at least until they could be sure the cut hadn’t gotten infected. They spent the afternoons lightly training, with Bruce coming over to inspect his arm with concern in his eyes every so often, they spent the evenings watching movies with Dick nestled between Jason and Bruce, and in the mornings Alfred made breakfast fit for superheroes. It was even fun to see how Jason had come up with an idea to make the nutritional shakes taste good (it involved fruit, ice cream, and candy bars. The last two ingredients were kept secret from Alfred and Bruce).

Being injured by Killer Croc was the best thing to happen to Dick in months, and he never wanted it to end.


	2. Chapter 2

The next time Dick teamed up with Bruce and Jason, it didn’t go quite as well. He had a vague plan: impress Bruce and get injured, but it was so hard to balance those two goals.

Eventually Dick saw his chance as he and Jason were fighting Two-Face, and the criminal swung his bat back, about to land a hit on Jason. Dick quickly pushed Jason out of the way, and took the blow, grunting with the force of it.

Two-Face stumbled back in surprise. “Wow, I never saw anyone so eager to get hurt,” he snarked. “Did you like how I beat you when you were younger, Nightwing?”

Dick pressed forward, using Two-Face’s surprise to his advantage, and landed a few powerful kicks on the man’s stomach and face. The fight didn’t last long after that.

“Hey, are you trying to get injured?” Jason screamed at him afterwards.

“I didn’t want him to hurt you,” Dick said, and it was the truth, at least part of the truth. “I’m bigger, I can take a hit with less damage.”

Jason didn’t look happy, but helped set Dick’s broken arm. (And he drew little birds on the cast when he thought Dick was sleeping.)

Bruce wasn’t as caring or gentle this time, but he did give Dick a quick hug. Then he gave both Jason and Dick a stern lecture on being more careful in the field.

\--

Then Jason died, and when Dick came back to Earth, everything was so much worse with Bruce. The few times he was injured, Alfred stitched his wounds. Bruce barely even looked at Dick anymore, and would only touch Dick to hit him. Dick tried to imagine how injured he would have to get this time for Bruce to care, and wondered if he would survive it.

\--

When Tim took over as Robin, Bruce’s mood slowly improved. He still mostly ignored Dick, but he didn’t scream at him or hit him anymore. Dick saw this as an opportunity, and took every chance to help train Tim in hopes that Bruce would acknowledge him. It didn’t seem to work, but at least Tim was pretty cool, and they had fun times train surfing together.

Three months into training Tim, and Dick had yet to even hear a gruff “Good job” from Bruce. Dick was currently staked out with Tim, on top of a warehouse by the docks, and they were waiting for a smuggler’s cargo to come in while Tim hacked the entire smuggling organization’s online transactions. It had been a few hours with no action aside from Tim’s finger’s clacking on the keyboard, and it was starting to feel cold, with frigid gusts of wind whipping across from the bay every so often.

“I’m hungry,” Tim said, stretching out his shoulders and yawning after being hunched over the portable batcomputer for hours.

“I’ll go get us some food,” Dick said, preparing to leap over the side of the building.

“Hey wait,” Tim protested. “What if they arrive while you’re gone? What if you run into their hired muscle?”

Dick tousled Tim’s hair and gave him a quick hug. “I’ll be right back. If they do arrive before I return, you record them without engaging. And if I run into their hired muscle,” Dick paused to smirk, “then I guess it’ll be his or her unlucky day.” Dick turned to dramatically jump off the building then paused. “Oh, I forgot to ask, do you want burgers and fries or pizza?”

Tim still didn’t look convinced, but it helped that he basically hero-worshipped Dick. “Burgers and fries,” he said primly. “Those’ll be easier to eat during a stakeout.”

“Are you sure you don’t want steak?” Nightwing quipped. “Then it’ll really be a steak-out.”

Tim groaned at the awful pun. “Just go,” he said with a laugh as he turned back to watching the docks.

Nightwing flipped and jumped lightly off the building, then grappled off into the night, in search of the nearest bat-burger.

\--

Nightwing didn’t make it all the way back across the rooftops with the piping hot bag of fast food before running into the hired muscle, which unfortunately happened to be Deathstroke the Terminator. Either the smugglers had deeper pockets than he realized, or Deathstroke really needed the cash. Neither option was good. The only bright spot in all this, was at least the roof where Tim was hiding was higher up, and still out of sight.

And at least Deathstroke hadn’t stumbled upon Robin while Nightwing had been gone. He shuddered at the thought.

“Any chance you’ll just let me go on my merry way with my lunch?” Nightwing asked, holding up the greasy bag of bat-burgers and fries.

Deathstroke said nothing and drew his sword. 

“Aw man, I thought so,” Nightwing said and delicately set down the bag on a ledge near the edge of the roof. 

Nightwing was faster than Deathstroke, he could easily outrun him, and grapple to Tim’s roof. But then they would have to cancel the stakeout. And a small insistent part of Dick’s mind suggested that maybe now was a good time to see how caring Bruce might be if he got injured in the field. And there was no doubt Deathstroke would at least injure him.

“Just try not to squish my burgers while we fight,” Nightwing said, drawing his escrima sticks. “I got the kind with extra bacon and cheese.”

“Still frivolous as ever,” Deathstroke remarked as he drew near. “You could be so much better if you tried.” Then he lunged forward and viciously cut towards Nightwing with his sword.

Nightwing flipped nimbly out of the way. “Nope, sorry. I was already trained by grim and humorless, and it didn’t stick.” He used the brief half-second that Deathstroke’s sword arm was extended to land a quick hit on his hand with his escrima. “And I even trained with you for a few weeks, but all I think I learned was how nasty MREs are.” Then he continued his flipping to the other side of the roof.

If Deathstroke had been human, the fight would have been almost over. As it was, he grunted and flexed his hand, switching his sword to his uninjured hand, then back. “Not bad,” he said. “However, your best strategy would be to call for back-up or leave while you still can.” He cocked his head to the side. “And you’ve done neither of those. Interesting.”

Nightwing felt his face heat up. “I don’t need back-up to beat you.”

“No?” Deathstroke paused to chuckle. “Then _prove_ it.”

Nightwing waited for Deathstroke’s next charge. This was probably going to hurt. Eventually. Deathstroke was aggravating, and he didn’t plan on making it easy for him.

Deathstroke lunged forward again, and Dick flipped out of the way, this time kicking the back of the mercenary’s knee as he passed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have some Tim angst. (Sorry about this chapter, it gets a little less angsty after this one for a while)

Tim’s stomach growled as he waited for Dick to return. It was taking a while, longer than it should have taken, but maybe Dick just got caught up helping someone else. He would do that sometimes, get sidetracked, help a little old lady find her keys, then listen politely as she chatted for hours. Tim shivered and pressed his hands against his sides to try and warm his fingers.

Then the smugglers arrived and docked their boat, and Dick still hadn’t returned. Tim took footage and pictures to document everything. He was zooming in close enough to take pictures of the shipping labels on the container sides, when he overheard one of the men carrying the containers.

“Where’s what’s his name…Deathstroke?” one of the grunts asked, huffing as he struggled to keep his side of the container level. 

“Dunno, don’t care,” another one replied. “Less time we spend around that creep the better.”

“Wish he was here to help unload,” the first man whined as the edge of the container nearly slipped out of his hands. “Doesn’t he have super strength or something?”

“Naw, you know he wouldn’t lower himself to do grunt work,” the other man said as he grimaced and readjusted his grip to help stabilize the container. “He’d just stand around and watch, jus’ like all the other bosses.”

“Hey, I heard the boss say Deathstroke ran into one of the Gotham vigilantes,” a third man piped up. “He’s probably still having fun playing target practice.” 

“Man, I’d _pay_ to see that.”

They all laughed.

Tim gasped in horror. _Dick._ It was terrifying to simultaneously realize in one second that Dick might be in trouble, and that there was absolutely nothing Tim could do about it. Well, nothing except call Batman or Oracle.

“Stay where you are,” Bruce growled over the com when Tim explained the situation. “I can be there in fifteen minutes to catch the smugglers.”

Tim’s heart sank. Who cared whether or not the smugglers carried crack into Gotham for another day? Dick might be injured. Deathstroke might be killing him as they spoke. “B,” Tim whispered, unable to stop his voice from wavering. “What about N? He’s not back yet, and he’s probably fighting Deathstroke. He might need medical care.”

“He knew the risks when he took the job,” Bruce said, then cut communications.

Tim tried to be optimistic about the situation, really, he did, maybe Bruce was just confident Dick would pull through. Maybe Dick would show up any minute, out of breath, laughing at Tim’s worry, and apologizing for letting the food get cold.

But it just didn’t seem right to leave Dick to an uncertain fate, and just sit here waiting for Batman to sweep in and save the day. Tim decided to do what he did best, investigate on his own.

-

Tim wasn’t as skilled as Nightwing yet at hopping roof to roof, but he managed. He was slower and definitely not as graceful, but he did make it across several rooftops, peering carefully around to check his surroundings after every jump. It was after the fifth rooftop that he saw them. 

Nightwing and Deathstroke were still circling around each other, looking for an opening. Tim’s spirits soared as he crept closer. Nightwing being alive was a win in his opinion, but Nightwing still on his feet and fighting was amazing. Not unexpected of course, but still amazing. Tim grinned to himself. He shouldn’t have doubted Dick. Maybe Nightwing would win the fight, or it might even end in a draw. Tim stayed quiet as he peered over the roof, not wanting to distract Dick.

As he watched the fight continue, Tim frowned. Dick was definitely worse for wear. He was limping, there was a nasty gash in his left thigh, and there was blood on his face.

Deathstroke looked perfectly fine. Suddenly, the giant mercenary darted forward, and viciously kicked Dick in his injured leg. With a cry, Nightwing fell to his knees. “Are you done?” Deathstroke asked, grabbing Nightwing by the hair and yanking.

Tim brought a fist to his mouth to hold back a sound of anguish. This wasn’t a fight, this was Deathstroke toying with Dick. Why didn’t Dick just give up? With a sinking feeling Tim realized that Dick probably thought he was keeping Tim safe by fighting Deathstroke as long as possible. And he probably had.

Deathstroke hissed and jumped back as Nightwing apparently shocked him with an escrima. “No? You still want to fight? That’s fine by me.”

Tim turned away from the horrible scene and called Oracle. “O, I need you to call B as soon as possible. Tell him to hurry. N’s hurt and he’s fighting Deathstroke.”

Oracle tried to calm Tim down, but he knew from the things she said that Bruce was at the docks now, and wouldn’t be around to help until later. 

Tim glanced down at the fight again, which seemed to be ending. Nightwing was sprawled on the ground, and Deathstroke was standing over him, sword drawn. Deathstroke kicked Nightwing in the upper thigh, then leaned down and whispered something in his ear. Then he was off, clunking across the rooftops, all power and no grace. 

Tim practically sobbed with relief as Deathstroke disappeared from view, then he scrambled down to the adjacent roof to check on Dick.

Dick was still breathing, so Tim sent Oracle a quick message to have Alfred pick them up if Batman was busy. Then he slowly approached Dick’s side.

“Hey, Robin,” Dick said, sitting up with a wince and spitting out a chunk of blood. “Sorry I let the food get cold. It’s over there I think,” he said pointing towards the opposite end of the roof.

“I don’t care about the food,” Tim said, sniffling. “I just hope you’re going to be okay.”

“Aw, but I got extra bacon and cheese. We can’t let that go to waste. Why don’t you go get it?”

Tim gave Dick an incredulous look, but scurried over to find the bat-burger bag. It was cold, the grease was congealing, and it looked like it had been stepped on a few times, but it still smelled good. Tim brought the bag back to Dick. “You’re sure you’re okay?” Tim asked again. Aside from the gash on the leg, the injuries didn’t look too bad.

“Just banged up a little,” Dick said, taking a bite out of a bat-burger and handing the other one to Tim. “Deathstroke has this weird fixation on me, I don’t think he’d seriously injure or kill me.” Dick frowned and took another bite. “At least he probably wouldn’t.”

Tim nibbled on his burger and watched Dick carefully for signs of brain trauma or internal injury while he waited for the car.

\--

Back at the cave, Tim helped Alfred clean and stitch the gash in Dick’s thigh. It was the worst of his injuries; the rest were mostly superficial cuts and bruises. And the gash avoided all major arteries. Maybe Deathstroke did have a thing for Dick.

“Hey, where’s B?” Dick asked as Alfred finished tying the last stitch.

“Master Bruce will be along shortly,” Alfred said as he stored the suture kit in its drawer. “I believe he was held up taking down a group of drug smugglers.” Then Alfred headed upstairs. 

Tim felt tears prickling at his eyes again as he watched Dick slowly stand up. “I was worried about you, I thought maybe-”

Dick pulled Tim into a gentle hug. “Aww, you worry too much, Robin. I’m fine.”

Tim snaked his arms around Dick’s waist to pull him closer.

Dick winced. “I’ll be fine,” he amended.

Then Bruce entered, sweeping into the cave with an air of righteous anger. “I’m glad you both are okay,” he grunted. “Tim, go to bed.”

Tim let go of Dick and scampered away, turning a corner and starting up the stairs, then stopping, close enough to overhear Bruce’s words.

“You endangered Tim tonight, and you almost cost us the mission,” Bruce growled. “That is unacceptable.” 

Tim gasped in indignation as he heard a smacking sound and a grunt. Had Bruce hit Dick? Tim didn’t want to believe it.


	4. Chapter 4

The whispered “If you want me to hurt you, call me next time. It can be so much more _fun_ for both of us,” was really a joke, Dick told himself. Slade didn’t mean it, not really, it was a taunt, mocking Dick for not even being able to hold his own in a fight against the mercenary. Yes, he had made a few foolish moves on purpose to get injured, and Slade had probably noticed, but Dick had miscalculated. He shouldn’t have wasted so much time fighting. He should have strategically retreated before getting injured. At least, that’s what Bruce had pointed out every time he caught sight of Dick’s injured leg.

But as he recovered, Dick found himself considering the offer seriously. Tim shouldn’t have to watch him get beat up, not ever again. And Bruce, well, Bruce was right. Dick had botched the mission by going on a food run, then going after Slade. Maybe, if he needed to get hurt, having Slade do it for him would be most efficient. His teammates would stay safe, Dick could focus on the missions, and no one ever had to know where his cuts and bruises came from.

Dick was lightly sparring with Tim in the cave, watching the teen bite his lower lip, and pull his punches, when he made his decision.

“C’mon Tim, you won’t hurt me,” Dick said, bouncing in place on the mat.

“You’re still injured,” Tim pointed out flatly. “I don’t want to injure you more.”

Dick laughed. “I’ve had worse, trust me. Just don’t kick me in the leg and I should be fine.”

Tim sighed, then came at Dick again, putting his weight behind his punches this time.

“Too slow,” Dick teased as he spun out of the way.

Tim grinned a sunny innocent smile. “I guess I shouldn’t worry. I can’t even land a hit.”

Tim didn’t deserve to get drawn into Dick’s need for affirmation from Bruce, he decided, if it came down to a choice between risking Tim’s life, or going to Slade to get hurt, well, that was barely even a difficult decision at all, wasn’t it?

\--

Dick waited until his leg was completely healed before looking up Deathstroke’s number. It had been hard to find, buried on the dark web, but he had found the number eventually, buried inside a chatlog titled, Do Not Call This Number Unless You Are Serious, If You Value Your Life. Based on some of the replies, Slade had probably received a fair number of prank phone calls. Dick snorted at the thought.

Next was figuring out what to say, and getting the nerve to call. What exactly should he say: “Hi, it’s Nightwing, you told me to call next time, so I am.”? Or “Hey, it’s Dick. I was wondering if you could pencil in a time to stab me in the arm next weekend.” Or maybe “Hey, I think our last fight ended a little abruptly. Care for a rematch?”

Dick thunked his head on his desk. Maybe he was overthinking things. He should just dial the number and see what happens. Slade might not even answer. It could be an old useless number. Convincing himself that Slade would of course not be answering the phone, Dick dialed the number. 

And nearly dropped the phone in surprise when Slade answered with an irate “Yes? Who is this? It better not be-”

“Uh, Slade?” Dick said, mentally smacking himself in the head for not having a clever speech prepared. How was he supposed to know Slade would actually answer a phone number he’d found on the internet?

“Nightwing,” Slade almost purred, his tone instantly softening. “I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. Have you considered my offer?”

“Yes,” Dick said, and tried to remember one of the clever opening lines he’d considered. “Couldyoumaybestabmeinthearmnextweeksometime?”

“Excellent,” Slade continued unfazed. “I couldn’t catch that last part, but maybe this conversation is one better had in person.”

“Uh, sure,” Dick said, and hurriedly hung up. He wanted to crawl under the bed and die of embarrassment. Had there ever been a hero who called their nemesis on the phone before to plan a meet-up to get “hurt” (and Dick wasn’t naïve, he knew Slade wanted sex as part of the deal), and then botched the conversation so horrendously? 

His phone pinged, and it was a date and a time, with a note that the location would be sent three hours before the assigned time. It was Saturday, just three days away. Dick slumped against the desk and groaned. He really couldn’t back out now, could he?

\--

In the days following his conversation with Slade, Dick actually felt a sort of relief. He could concentrate on the mission now, and not have to worry whether or not an opportunity to get injured might come up – Slade would do that for him at the end of the week. Really, it made sense, why get stabbed in a dark unsanitary alley when he could get stabbed in Slade’s bed? And yeah, maybe he was a little nervous about whatever Slade would want in return as part of the deal, but he ruthlessly shoved that minor worry to the side, to be dealt with at a later time.

Tim still seemed kind of nervous and antsy around Dick, and shot him a nervous glance when Dick arrived in the Batcave for his first team-up with Batman and Robin since Nightwing’s injury.

“Nightwing, you’re with me,” Batman growled. “Robin, stay in the cave, until it’s time to track the shipment downtown.”

Dick was elated. Finally, another chance to prove himself to Bruce; he couldn’t remember the last time he partnered with Batman instead of Robin. He nodded and moved to stand by Bruce’s side.

Tim, however, did not seem to have gotten the memo. “Actually, uh, could Nightwing stay here?” he asked. “Tracking the shipment is very high priority, I might have to do it in person at some point, and I could use the back-up.”

Bruce glowered for a moment, then nodded. “Just make sure you don’t make any fast food detours this time,” he said acidly.

Dick winced and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sorry about that, B. We got hungry last time.”

Bruce just grunted, then swept out of the cave.

Dick sighed and plopped down in one of the chairs. He loved his little brother, really, he did, but he was slightly annoyed at Tim. “Hey,” he said. “I know for a fact you’re more than capable of doing this by yourself. So why did you request back-up?”

Tim bit his lower lip and looked nervous. “Uh, there’s something I wanted to ask you, actually. Please don’t get mad.”

Dick’s stomach dropped as he thought for an instant that maybe Tim had found out about the agreement he was about to set up with Slade. “Uh, what?” He laughed nervously. 

Tim turned in his chair, his face was scrunched up like he was trying not to cry. “Has B ever hit you?” Tim blurted out. “‘Cause I thought I heard something in the cave one time, but maybe I misunderstood,” he finished all in a rush.

“What? No,” Dick lied easily. It really was barely even a lie, since Dick knew that Bruce only hit him when he deserved it. 

Then his stomach clenched as he thought of possible reasons Tim might ask the question. “Why do you ask, he never hit you, did he?” Dick asked, keeping his tone light.

“No, I was just wondering,” Tim mumbled, giving Dick a thoughtful, careful look.

Dick sighed, then walked over to ruffle Tim’s hair. “You shouldn’t be worrying about me anyway, Robin, I’m an adult, I can take care of myself.”

Tim make a squawking noise, and Dick laughed as the teen used his reflection in one of the monitors to fix his hair.


	5. Chapter 5

On Saturday, Dick’s phone pinged with a location at exactly 6 am. Dick groaned and rolled over in his bed. What kind of sadist texted at 6 am on a Saturday? Slade apparently did. Dick cursed and threw off the covers as he remembered he had three hours to get to the location. He blearily looked at the phone. The location was at a motel a good 45 minutes away. Dick stumbled into the kitchen and poured himself a bowl of crocky crunch. The milk in the fridge was still good, Dick smelled it before pouring, just to make sure, and to keep Jason from rolling in his grave (more than he already was with the whole Slade business). Dick paused. Jason would have turned seventeen this year. He still felt vaguely guilty over how jealous he had been of the teen, but it wasn’t as if he had a lot of spare time for self-reflection. Especially not now. Dick glanced at the clock and sighed. He sent Tim a quick text that said he wouldn’t be over for morning cartoons and sparring, maybe he’d come over tomorrow instead.

Depending on how injured Slade left him. Feeling suddenly petty, he pulled up Slade’s number. _I hope you realize I’m missing morning cartoons to meet you this early_ , he texted Slade, then instantly regretted it. As if the man even cared. As if Slade wasn’t doing him a favor.

Slade texted back almost instantly, _Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you_

Dick almost choked on his cereal and his face heated up. He was doomed.

\--

It was a moderately nice motel, as nice as motels on the edge of town could be. The parking lot was free of debris, aside from a few scattered soda cans, and only had a few long narrow cracks running through the pavement. The dumpster didn’t smell unnecessarily foul, and the building looked as if it had been freshly painted in the last decade. Not a bad place, really, Dick decided as he stepped out of his car. Slade could certainly afford better, but it was isolated from the main highway by a row of trees, and there were only a handful of cars in the parking lot. It was definitely discrete, which Dick could also appreciate, and as long as it was roach, bedbug, and rat-free, Dick wouldn’t have any complaints.

The halls smelled slightly of stale cigarette smoke and overused air freshener. The carpet was gray and dingy and threadbare in the middle. Dick dragged his feet on the patch of carpet along the sides of the walls, wondering how long it would take to wear the carpet evenly. And now he could say that he’d literally dragged his feet coming here. Haha. 

Dick checked and rechecked the door number on his phone three times. He didn’t want to accidentally disturb another motel guest. What would he even say? “Sorry, no, it’s not the donut delivery you were hoping for, I seem to have gotten lost on my way to an appointment with the mercenary who agreed to beat me up. Have you seen Deathstroke around by any chance?” Dick snorted at the mental image and debated texting Slade again. He was also twenty minutes late, maybe he should text, and make sure Slade hadn’t left in a huff.

Suddenly, Slade threw the door open and glared down at Dick, an unimpressed scowl on his face. “You’re late,” he commented, stepping aside to let Dick through. He was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, and could probably pass for a regular motel guest, that is, if regular motel guests also had an eyepatch and were buff enough to place in an Arnold fitness contest.

“Hey, all good things are worth waiting for,” Dick teased, attempting to lighten the mood. “Besides, I’m not a morning person.”

Slade folded his massively muscled arms and raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe you were curious how I would respond.” He leaned closer into Dick’s personal space. “Trying to get punishment already?” he breathed in Dick’s ear. “You know you just need to ask.”

Dick gulped nervously, and the hair raised on the back of his neck. “Yeah, you know me, just trying to get even more pain on top of the pain you already promised,” he joked, but it seemed to fall flat, even to him.

Slade made an unimpressed sound, then turned and walked into the small kitchenette. It was even smaller than the kitchen in Dick’s apartment, really just a mini fridge, microwave, countertop, a sad section of worn tile on the floor, and a set of table and chairs that had probably last seen better days in the 70s.

“Here, have a cup of tea while we discuss our options,” Slade said, shoving the warm mug into Dick’s hands.

Dick sat down, staring dubiously at the liquid wondering if it was drugged, then shrugged and sipped it, instantly scrunching his face up at the bitterness. Slade apparently still had yet to discover sugar or flavored sweeteners. “Options?” he asked.

Slade pulled out a chair and sat at the table facing Dick, sipping his own mug of tea. “Yes. What you want from our time together.”

Dick felt his stomach drop. Just how complicated did Slade want to make this? Was he getting some sort of sick satisfaction out of prolonging the negotiation? “I thought we’d already agreed on it. You said you would hurt me, and that’s what I want,” Dick said all in a rush.

“Yes,” Slade said slowly. “But we need to discuss limits. How exactly do you want to get hurt, and what isn’t up for consideration?”

Dick shrugged. “I thought it’d be like the fight. You could beat me up and stab me or something.” He blushed in embarrassment. “And, uh, obviously there would be sex.”

“Bloodplay is pretty extreme for a first time,” Slade said, raising an eyebrow. “Unless you’ve done this before?”

“The fights don’t count?” Dick asked.

“No.”

Dick squirmed in his seat. “Obviously I’ve had sex before,” he said, “but I uh, never-”

“Never negotiated kinks?” Slade supplied.

Dick nodded, wishing he could just disappear into a hole in the floor until Slade just got things over with. Holy hell, Batman, how much negotiating would it take for Slade to stab him outside of a fight? He tried to gather his confidence again, giving a small fake smile that he hoped would fool Slade. “Really, all I need is for you to stab me somewhere non-vital. You can do anything else you want to me,” he added, hoping that would placate Slade.

“Anything is a lot to promise,” Slade said standing. “What if anything included urinating on you?”

Dick made a face. “Would you?”

“No, I’m not into that, it’s an example,” Slade said. Pausing, and then sitting down again. “Whatever your opinion of me might be, I think it’s best to inform you that I’m not really into knifeplay or bloodplay, either,” Slade said. “It’s a lot of work, and the preparation, cleanup and aftercare are particularly challenging.

Dick felt like he might scream. Was Slade being extremely frustrating on purpose? “But-your sword!” he managed to get out

“Is for work.” Slade sighed. “If you really want knifeplay included, I will, but I’d prefer not for our first time.”

First time? Dick’s head swam with the implications. No, this was fine, he could always insist on being stabbed next time, or maybe Slade could be persuaded to do it after the sex, as a going away present. Afterall, he needed to get back to the cave to get stitched up, and being stabbed before sex maybe wasn’t the best idea. Plus, Slade would see pretty quickly that it didn’t turn Dick on. And it might leave a disgusting biohazardous mess for the maids to clean up, which would be kind of rude. He slumped in his chair, resigned. “Okay, what did you have in mind for a first time?”

“Bondage, rough sex, spanking, maybe more serious impact play later depending on your pain tolerance.” Slade looked him up and down and gave him a smirk. 

Dick shifted and felt his face heating up again. “That sounds okay,” he choked out.

“Really?”

Dick nodded.

Slade exhaled. “You know, normally I prefer my BDSM to be safe, sane and consensual, but for you, I’m willing to accept two out of three. Maybe 1.5 out of three if we’re really honest.”

“Hey!” Dick said indignantly, then paused. “Was that a joke? Okay, that was kind of funny in a dad joke way,” Dick cringed internally as he said that, whoops, he definitely did not need to think about Slade being Joey’s father right before sex with the man, “but you definitely need to work on your jokes. I can help you if you want, I mean aside from the kinky sex and bondage, if you also wanted to crack jokes back and forth, that’d be fine by me. Bonding with bondage and wordplay, you know?”

Slade gave him another unimpressed look. “I brought a gag. How do you feel about wearing one?”

Dick huffed and folded his arms. “Okay, that’s a good example of an unfunny joke.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The sex scene you've been waiting for, though mostly it's just Dick making puns and annoying Slade. lol
> 
> Also, content warning, brief mention of bugs/insects (as a result of non-sanitary conditions)

The bedroom only had one waterspot on the ceiling, and the large bed was only slightly sagging in the middle. Dick fidgeted with the edge of the worn-out checkered bedspread as Slade rummaged through his kink bags. 

Slade had gone over some boring stuff about color codes for stopping. Dick doubted they’d be necessary, but it was kind of nice to know that Slade would stop if he asked. Slade wasn’t his usual type (Dick’s usual type was normally much more red-headed), but the man definitely was good-looking, in a rugged muscle-bound way, and Dick could hypothetically see himself probably being interested even if he hadn’t had the offer to get safely injured.

“What are you doing?” Slade turned and raised an eyebrow, staring pointedly at where Dick was pulling up the edge of the bedspread.

“Checking for bedbugs,” Dick snarked, because at least he had his humor, which he fully intended to use to make it through the rest of this experience. “You know, they can ride home with you on your shoes if you’re not careful. They could probably ride home in your bondage bag too.”

“There aren’t any, I already checked,” Slade said, because of course he had. 

“Well, that’s a relief,” Dick said, glancing at a stain on the bedspread.

“If the motel isn’t up to your standards, you can pick a different one and pay next time,” Slade said, as he removed a length of rope from his bag.

Dick laughed. Any hotel he’d be able to afford would be way more run-down than this one, and probably haunted too. “Hey, I’m not made of money.”

“Could have fooled me with all your tech, and weapons,” Slade remarked, and sat on the edge of the bed, next to Dick. He settled an arm over Dick’s shoulders, and Dick tried not to jump at the suddenness of the movement. “Do you want me to undress you, or-”

“I can do it myself,” Dick said lightly, and shrugged quickly out of his clothes, then reclined onto the bed, grimacing as he heard a bedspring creak. “Are you going to start with the bondage?” he asked. “I have a lot of experience with that, just don’t hang me from the ceiling for hours without food and water and I should be fine.”

Slade made a snorting sound, then let his eye wander along the length of Dick’s body. “You’ve filled out nicely,” he remarked gruffly.

Dick shrugged, and rolled over onto his stomach. “You know me, perfection incarnate.”

“And modest too,” Slade remarked dryly, but despite his words, he was definitely eyeing Dick’s backside with appreciation.

“Aww, you’re learning to joke, I knew you could,” Dick teased.

Slade’s eye narrowed. “On second thought, I think I might start with a spanking first. Come here,” he said patting his thigh.”

“Can’t wait to get your hands on my butt?” Dick quipped as he wriggled closer. “That’s what everyone else goes for first, too, so original,” he finished with a sigh as he stretched himself over Slade’s thick thighs.

“Are you incapable of shutting up, or are you just trying to aggravate me into using a gag?” Slade asked as he landed a sharp blow onto Dick’s backside.

Dick yelped, mostly in surprise. It didn’t hurt, not really, and it definitely didn’t hurt as much as it had back when Bruce used to punish him like this. He squirmed and settled in as Slade rained down a few more hard smacks. At this rate is was going to take forever to get a single bruise, and they wouldn’t even be convincing fight injuries. Unless he tried to convince Bruce he had fallen backwards off his motorcycle while fighting the latest crime boss. “You know, you can hit me harder,” Dick said as Slade paused. “I’ve got a lot of padding back there.”

Slade didn’t continue, and instead ran his hand lightly along Dick’s back. “I’ll switch to the paddle when I think you’ve warmed up enough, how about that?” 

Dick rolled his eyes. “Whatever floats your boat.” Then he snickered at his own joke. “Or maybe it should be whatever rows your boat?”

Slade made a strangled noise, and gave Dick a few quick smacks. “I think you are having trouble focusing,” he said after a short pause. “Sometimes it can help to focus on this as punishment. Do you have anything you need to be punished for?” Slade ran his other hand up along Dick’s neck. “Aside from arriving late and mouthing off that is.”

“Uh.” All the times he had disappointed Bruce came to mind, but there were so many, it’d be hard to rank and sort then all. His most recent failing came to mind. That had been pretty bad, endangering Tim, and Dick still felt wracked with guilt. He started talking, not really thinking. “I, uh, I left in the middle of a stakeout to get some fast food. I was irresponsible, and Robin well, I left him by himself.”

Slade’s hand tightened momentarily on the back of Dick’s neck. “I see,” he rumbled, and there was almost an undertone of pleasure in his voice. “That _was_ irresponsible.” He punctuated the sentence with a hard smack to the curve of Dick’s ass.

Dick inhaled sharply. “He was okay, I, uh,” he stuttered as Slade managed to find a particularly painful area with the next few slaps.

“But he might not have been,” Slade said, continuing the barrage of smacks. “That’s your problem, you don’t always think things through.”

Dick felt a tear leaking from the side of one of his eyes. Weird. “You know me, I jump first, think later,” he quipped, wincing as his voice wavered.

Slade leaned over and picked something up from the foot of the bed. “You said you wanted it to hurt more. Is that still what you want?”

“Yes,” Dick gasped, barely holding back a sniffle. The worst part was Tim had been worried about him. Dick yelped as Slade brought a wooden paddle down on his ass. Okay, that had hurt. He felt his eyes watering. “I’m sorry,” he whispered in between sniffs.

Slade continued with the paddle until Dick’s chest was heaving with gulped sobs.

-

The rope was soft, and not scratchy, Dick noticed as Slade tied a loop around his wrist. It had probably been an expensive rope, and Dick had a sudden need to know whether Slade had bought it in person. “Hey, this is nicer rope than I’m used to,” he said, and winced at how his voice still sounded wavery and watery. “Did you buy it at one of those fancy sex shops?”

Slade just grunted and started securing Dick’s other wrist.

“I just have to know, because I’m having an image of you going in there with your full Deathstroke suit and mask, and standing politely in line, and all the customers are giving you terrified glances, wondering if you’re there for them, or if Deathstroke is into the sexy kind of rope bondage.”

“I ordered it online,” Slade said, and re-positioned Dick, lifting one leg.

"Wow, way to be a buzzkill," Dick said, and gave Slade an exaggerated pout. "Did anything fun happen when you ordered it online? Did you leave a review as Deathstroke, complete with pictures?"

Slade made an exasperated sound, testing the ropes one final time.

Dick tried the bind on his wrists, they were secured to the headboard, pretty solid, though the headboard itself probably wouldn’t survive a full-strength yank. He grimaced and shifted as he felt Slade start to prepare him. “Hey, I just thought of something. Since you tied me up, you have to do all the work.”

Slade chose to ignore Dick’s comment, and pushed his legs farther apart. “So flexible,” he purred, leaning in to press his mouth to Dick’s inner thigh.

“Yeah, I get that one a lot too,” Dick said and flinched as he felt teeth. 

Then all too soon, Slade was pressing into him, and moving harshly against him. Dick moaned and tried to grab at the rope holding his wrists to steady himself.

\--

Slade lounged in bed, and replied to potential clients on his phone. He rolled his eyes as he responded to a whiny text from one of his clients who wanted to know why their neighbor who always left tire tracks on their lawn hadn’t been murdered yet.

Slade hit send, then glanced over to make certain that Grayson was still asleep. He was sprawled on his stomach, breath puffing softly from his open mouth where he drooled on the pillow. Bruises were starting to form on his hips and thighs, and bitemarks were artfully scattered across his body.

The man had passed out almost immediately after cleanup. He had probably been running on coffee, sugar, and five hours of sleep for the past few days, Slade snorted softly at the thought.

Slade placed a hand possessively on Dick’s lower back, as he contemplated the situation. Truthfully, things with Grayson had gone even better than he had imagined. He hadn’t expected whatever Grayson’s issues were to lead so easily to sex, not that he would complain – enjoyable sex too, aside from the slight annoyance of Grayson nervously running his mouth almost the entire time. But the upside of the constant chatter, was that now Slade had a much better idea of what some of the issues were, and how best to use them to his advantage.

Slade smirked to himself as Dick stirred in his sleep, leaning into Slade’s touch. He fully intended to use the entire situation to his advantage, taking whatever Grayson might give him, and never letting go.

-

When Dick woke up, he found he had cuddled up against Slade in his sleep. How embarrassing. Slade didn’t seem to mind, though, and Dick felt his large hand carding through his hair. It felt…nice. In fact, everything about Slade had been nice and gentle after the rough sex, which was weird, aftercare or something Slade had said. He’d given Dick a bath, and rubbed ointment over the worst of the bruises and bitemarks.

“Had a nice nap?” Slade asked dryly, but his expression was fond.

Dick yawned and nodded then pulled away and stretched, wincing as the sore spots on his body made themselves known. He glanced over at the digital clock on the nightstand, it was already past 6pm. Forget about ‘nap’, he’d just gotten more sleep than he usually did most nights. Hopefully he wouldn’t be late for patrol. Dick yawned again.

“Hungry?” Slade asked. “I’ll order delivery. You shouldn’t drive back on an empty stomach.”

Dick hadn’t had anything to eat since his breakfast of crocky crunch, and his stomach grumbled as he nodded. Might as well get free food out of the deal.

“Any requests?” Slade asked as he picked up his phone.

“What, you’re not going to make me eat healthy military rations?” Dick teased. “If I want ice cream, can we have that?”

Slade sighed and gave him a slightly aggravated look. “Ice cream is a dessert, not a meal. I’d prefer that you eat something more substantial first, there’s a good Vietnamese place not too far from here that I was planning on ordering from, but if you really want ice cream-”

“Vietnamese food is good,” Dick said quickly. He stood up from the bed, and flexed the muscles in his back, rolling his shoulders. Now was as good a time as any to work some of the soreness out with light exercise and stretching.

\--

Slade leered at him from behind his phone a few times, but otherwise he didn’t interfere with Dick’s Yoga/Pilates/stretching workout.

The food arrived shortly, and Dick wandered into the kitchenette where Slade had already organized the boxes of heavenly smelling food. Dick snorted and plopped himself down into a chair, then instantly regretted it. Okay, he was definitely not entering a motorcycle racing contest tomorrow, and he might have to cut the video game marathon with Tim short, really, he planned on not sitting as much as possible for the next few days.

Dick stood and rubbed his ass surreptitiously, feeling his face heat up as Slade smirked at him.

“It might be sore for a while if you’re not used to this. Want a pillow?”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Dick said, picking a container up from the table. He fully intended to eat standing up.

\--

It was late when Dick returned to Bludhaven, almost time to leave on patrol, and he was sore and tired, and his apartment was a disaster zone. He had forgotten to close the box of crocky crunch, and cockroaches and ants were currently having a full-sized party on his countertop. There were only crumbs left at this point, so it wasn’t like the cereal was salvageable. Dick groaned as he realized he would have to remember to go grocery shopping in the morning, and he’d probably be too tired to go to an actual store, and would have to settle for price-gouged convenience-store cereal instead. Dick felt vaguely guilty as he brushed the bugs into the trash bin, but he was sure that they would continue their partying in the dumpster.

Then Dick suited up and started his nightly patrol.


	7. Chapter 7

Dick cancelled on Tim the next morning, blearily texting him with that he was too tired to make their rescheduled video game marathon. He still hadn’t bought cereal, which meant no breakfast until he trekked to the store, and he definitely didn’t feel up to facing Bruce today. And it wasn’t like Dick even had an injury to show for yesterday, most of the bruises were concentrated around his hips and butt, and it wasn’t as if he was about to go to Bruce and claim he tripped down the stairs. The bruises didn’t seem severe enough to require any sort of medical treatment, and would probably fade over the next few days. And there were only a handful that were still sore enough to the touch to cause pain. Weren’t big scary villains who promised pain supposed to deliver? Dick had been more roughed up after a fight with Kiteman. Talk about false advertising. He should ask Slade for a refund. Dick snorted at the thought. 

Tim texted back that a good compromise would be to bring his video games and come over Dick’s apartment, because of course he did. Dick groaned and wondered if he had enough time to make his apartment look remotely inhabitable. He glanced at the mountains of unwashed laundry scattered around his room. Maybe he could pass them off as ski slopes. ‘why yes, Tim, today I decided we could try indoor skiing, and no, of course it’s not because I haven’t done the laundry in a month’. Dick decided it was a lost cause, texted Tim a smiley face, and rolled over for a few more minutes of sleep.

He was awakened what seemed a few seconds later by Tim pounding on his door. Dick stumbled out of bed and to the door, wincing as all his sore muscles that had tightened up again while he was asleep made themselves known.

“Rough night?” Tim asked as he took in Dick’s disheveled appearance and the disastrous appearance of his apartment.

“Yeah, something like that,” Dick agreed with a yawn.

Tim scurried past into the living room, not commenting as he moved the Nightwing suit aside to plop onto the couch. “Hey did you eat yet? Tim asked, deceptively casually. “I’m still hungry, if you wanted to go out to eat.” Then a crafty smile flitted across Tim’s face. “I swiped one of Bruce’s cards last week, so I’m definitely buying.”

Dick laughed, then groaned. “Tim…”

“He won’t notice,” Tim said. “And even if he does, I’ll just tell him it was job-related purchases.”

Dick really didn’t want to have to make himself presentable enough to go to a restaurant. “Actually, I was going to make something here if you don’t mind, I uh, just haven’t gone to the grocery store yet.”

Tim sat up. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Alfred told me about a few of your kitchen horror stories.”

Dick gasped and took on a mock-offended tone. “Hey, I can cook, as long as I don’t get distracted.” And all right, maybe he had started a few fires in Alfred’s kitchen, and one giant explosion, but that was only because Dick hadn’t understood how to use a pressure cooker yet. “Alfred’s just exaggerating. Mostly.”

“Prove it,” Tim said with a smile.

“You bet.”

\--

Slade texted him like a needy boyfriend a few times while they were at the store. It was annoying, but it was also…kind of nice.

.

_I hope you’re eating something other than sugary cereal for breakfast_

.

_Yes, grandpa_ , Dick texted back, as Tim threw a box of granola bars, and five boxes of cereal into the cart. 

.

_Hmm, are you trying to get punishment for next time already? I didn’t realize you enjoyed yourself so much. Or maybe I was too gentle, and you need more already?  
_

.

Dick felt his face heat up. Maybe he had enjoyed himself a little, but it wasn’t like he was about to admit that to Slade. _You wish, more like you need to give me a refund_ , he texted.

.

_Oh? I didn’t realize you paid for my services._

.

Dick almost dropped his phone, but recovered with a quick text: _Hey, my time is valuable._

“Might as well load up on the other essentials while we’re here,” Tim said, throwing a stack of frozen dinners into the cart. “Hey, who are you texting?”

Dick jumped and slipped his phone into his pocket. “Just a friend.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. The cart was filled to the brim with breakfast foods, and a lot of other stuff Dick probably should have been buying all along by the time they left the store.

They returned back to his apartment, and Dick got started with breakfast as Tim put the groceries away (which wasn’t hard, since all the cupboards were empty, and it wasn’t like Dick had a system for organizing his food, even if there had been any.)

His cooking utensils were all clean (mostly because he hadn’t used them in months), and Dick took out a skillet and started making French toast, the kind with cinnamon and sugar in the egg batter. Then he placed the bacon and sausage in the oven.

“Hey, that smells good,” Tim said as Dick finished with the first set of French toast. “Like, real good.”

Dick smirked. “Told you I could cook. How about you set the table while I make a huge stack for each of us?”

Tim nodded and found clean plates and glasses for both of them, and set out some of the fruit they’d also bought. “I could cut up the strawberries, then we could have them with whipped cream on the French toast,” Tim offered.

“That sounds great!” Dick said as he finished another set of French toast, cooked perfectly enough to appease even Alfred probably.

Dick removed the bacon and sausage from the oven (and before it had burned too!), and then he settled down across from Tim to enjoy their huge delicious breakfast. They had giant stacks of French toast, layered with strawberries, blueberries and whipped cream, and drenched in syrup (it was the most expensive maple syrup, since Bruce had been unknowingly paying), then they had bacon sausage, and scrambled eggs on the side.

Then afterwards they sprawled out on the couch for their video game marathon.

It all went perfectly, except for the one moment when his shirt rode up, and he could feel Tim’s eyes boring into him.

“Is that a bite mark?” Tim asked. “Who did you fight last night? Do you need to get it checked out? Mouths have lots of infectious bacteria.”

Dick quickly pulled his shirt down. “I already disinfected it, don’t worry,” he mumbled.

Tim looked incredulous, but returned to their video game, quickly finishing off Dick’s character in a move that seemed impossible.

“How’d you do that?” Dick grumbled, and continued trying to pummel Tim in the game. He was 90% certain Tim was cheating, but had no idea _how_.

Much later, after Tim had left, Dick opened his phone to read the messages from Slade.

.

_How would you like your refund? More time with me? If you explain to me exactly what it is you want, I promise it will be much more worthwhile this time._

_._

_Need more time to think about it? I can provide suggestions again if you like._

.

_Grayson, if you ignore me, I’ll show up somewhere unexpected._

_._

_Or is that what you’re hoping for?_

.

Dick rolled his eyes. Geez, just how much time did Slade spend staring at his phone? More time than most Millennials, apparently.

_Don’t you have murder-y evil villain work to do?_ Dick texted.

_._

The reply was almost instantaneous. _I can always make time in my schedule for you._

.

Dick swallowed back a lump in his throat and wondered if Bruce would ever send him a message like that. (Not the creepy sexual ones obviously, but the one about making time for him.) But words were easy, and promises could be empty, and Dick had a pressing need to find out how much Slade actually meant it.

.

_What if I asked you to come over right now? Would you?_ _  
_

_._

_Give me twenty minutes._

_._


	8. Chapter 8

Dick only half-thought Slade would show up within twenty minutes, but he finished tidying up just in case. His apartment wasn’t immaculate by any means, but he had food in the cupboards, the floor had been swept, the trash had been taken out, his Nightwing suit had been hung up, and he had done a load of laundry. The unwashed piles still remained on his floor, but now at least he had _some_ clean clothes. Clothes that were currently piled on his bed, but hey, it’s not like he had time to do everything.

To celebrate, Dick poured himself a bowl of cereal and curled up on the couch to watch cartoons.

There was a scraping sound from the bedroom, a clunk, then heavy footsteps. Dick rolled his eyes. Of course Deathstroke would dramatically use the window even when the door was perfectly fine. 

“The door’s open by the way,” Dick called, shoveling more cereal into his mouth.

There was no response, but the footsteps approached the living room, and eventually Slade was looming over the back of the couch, in full Deathstroke gear. Dick couldn’t suppress a slight shiver. Okay, that was definitely still kind of creepy and scary, especially after all his years of fighting Deathstroke. Still, it was kind of thrilling. Even more so since Dick was only dressed in boxers and a thin t-shirt.

Slade removed his mask. “I thought you said you were eating food other than sugary cereal?”

Dick shrugged. “I did. Now I’m having a reward.”

Slade made a sound that sounded almost like a laugh. “Once you get older, you’ll find you have to adjust your diet, once your metabolism starts slowing down.”

Dick rolled his eyes. “I don’t intend to ever get as old as you.” Then he paused in silence. “Wait, that came out a lot more morbid than I meant it to.”

Slade made an unimpressed noise, and started running his fingers roughly through Dick’s hair. Dick closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. It felt…nice.

“You invited me over to your messy apartment, and you’re eating sugary cereal. It almost seems as if, you’re asking for punishment,” Slade mused, tightening his fingers in Dick’s hair and pulling just a little.

“Hey, I cleaned up for you, usually it’s a lot messier,” Dick said.

“I noticed the unfolded laundry on your bed,” Slade remarked, glancing around the living room and looking pointedly at a dust bunny on the floor.

“It’s still a work in progress, okay?” Dick admitted. “But it’s a lot better than it was before.”

“And you complained about the motel,” Slade murmured. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Sooo,” Dick said, reaching up and grabbing Slade’s arm and pulling him closer over the back of the couch. “How much trouble am I in?”

Slade grabbed Dick’s bowl of cereal, and placed it carefully on an end table. “More than you can imagine.”

\--

Whatever kind of sexy role-play Dick imagined; he didn’t expect that Slade would make him do actual chores before they started. There was a quick spanking, but it was over almost as soon as it had started, and could hardly even be considered fun. Then Slade had the audacity to lounge on Dick’s bed with folded arms and stare at the messy pile of clean clothes until Dick relented and started putting them away.

“Did you never learn how to fold your own clothes?” Slade commented as Dick shoved crumpled underwear in a drawer.

“Nope!” Dick said cheerfully as he crammed all of his socks into one drawer and jammed it shut. That would probably be a disaster later, but that was a problem for future Dick, who he hoped would be understanding.

“I think you need to clean the floor next,” Slade remarked as a few dust bunnies skittered past.

Dick sighed deeply. Fortunately, Tim had bought him a sponge mop and cleaning supplies earlier, otherwise this would be awkward.

-

It was late when the apartment was finally clean enough to satisfy Slade’s whims. It was probably the cleanest it had been since Dick had moved in. Probably even cleaner than that, really. Dick groaned and dramatically crashed onto the bed next to Slade, and buried his face in the pillow.

“I’m too tired now to have much fun,” Dick complained.

Slade’s hands were on his shoulders in an instant. “I’ll take that as a challenge,” he said, and Dick could hear the amusement dripping from his voice. Slade pressed down, massaging and relaxing the muscles there. It felt very nice.

“There’s not going to be any time left until I have to patrol,” Dick complained, as he remembered. Damn, it was probably almost time to start. He pushed himself up.

Slade pushed him back down. “Why don’t you take the night off? You can say you spent the whole time fighting me. Technically you are keeping a “villain” occupied and out of trouble.”

“That’s right,” Dick agreed. “You can’t kill people if I keep you busy.” Maybe one day, if he ever had to explain this arrangement with Slade to Bruce, Dick could use that argument. Maybe it would even work. He felt himself relax at the thought, and Slade made a satisfied noise of approval. 

\--

Slade was gentle at first, then progressively rougher, biting at Dick’s side and grabbing his wrists. “Still want to be stabbed in bed, Grayson?” he teased running his other hand along Dick’s side.

“Maybe afterwards, or some other time,” Dick grunted, finding it difficult to focus on anything other than Slade’s hands and teeth.

“Why were you so insistent on it at first?” Slade asked. 

Dick blushed, it seemed silly and childish now that he thought of explaining it out loud to Slade. “It’s not important,” he mumbled.

“It might help me understand how to make this even better for you,” Slade said, punctuating the words with small bites on Dick’s hip.

“I, uh, Bruce isn’t really, I mean, when I get injured…it’s different…”

“He takes care of you,” Slade finished. “So you tried to get injured. That sounds dangerous,” he said, though there was a hint of amusement in Slade’s tone.

Dick nodded, feeling his face heat up even more. “I tried to be careful,” he said.

“Thank you for telling me that, it’s very useful information,” Slade said. And it might have been Dick’s imagination, but he looked like the cat who had eaten the canary. Or the Robin in this case. Former Robin. Haha. “You know,” Slade continued. “I can hurt you and take care of you afterwards. I think maybe you’d enjoy that.”

Dick nodded.

-

Dick woke up the next morning to a clingy Mercenary holding him in bed. Which was weird, and strangely comforting to be pressed up against Slade’s side, with his warm breath tickling his ear, and most days might be welcome, but today Dick had a morning shift at the bar. It wasn’t that early of a shift, but it was relatively early for vigilantes. “Slade,” Dick grumbled, pushing at his arm. “Get up, I have to go to work.”

Slade grumbled and tightened his grip. “I thought nocturnal birds slept in. It’s not healthy to burn the candle at both ends.”

“Ha, very funny. If I want to keep my day job, and continue having a place to live that isn’t the Batcave, I have to get up.” Not that Dick would ever go crawling back to Bruce if he was evicted, he’d rather live with friends or on the street first. He might go back to Alfred if things got rough, but was sure he couldn’t face Bruce’s disapproval. And mooching off of Bruce for life was not a career goal.

Slade relented and loosened his grip, watching thoughtfully as Dick stood up and started searching for clean clothes. “You know, you could easily make more money working, a different job-”

Dick froze in the middle of prying his sock drawer open. Had Slade faked interest in order to try and get Dick to agree to resume training as his apprentice? Did he really think that it would work? He clenched his fist and turned to face Slade. “Wow, really? Is that what this is all about? Trying to get me to work for you as Renegade? No absolutely not. Never. I’d rather starve first.”

Slade scoffed and chuckled. “Relax. You’re much too old and set in your ways to be trained as Renegade now, and it would be an unpleasant experience for both of us. I was merely suggesting that you use some of your natural talent to obtain a higher paying job. You could make the same amount working fewer hours.”

Dick exhaled heavily, trying to calm down. It was a relief that Slade wasn’t just trying to manipulate him, but still, it wasn’t as though he’d earned the right to give him career advice yet. “And work as what, a stripper? Sorry, the hours would clash with being a vigilante.”

“I have no doubt you’d be excellent as a stripper, but I had something different in mind. I have connections who-”

Dick threw a pillow at Slade. “What, so you think I’d take a job as a contract killer? No thank you!”

“There are plenty of non-lethal, mostly legal contracts available,” Slade said, easily catching the pillow and setting it on the bed. “Obviously I wouldn’t expect you to kill anyone for money.”

“Mostly legal? Like shaking people down for the mob? Pass.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of testing security systems for high profile clients. With my contacts, you’d easily get the job.”

Dick pursed his lips. Okay, testing security systems didn’t sound _too_ bad. But if Slade was a good reference, there was probably something crooked going on. “I might not make much working at the bar, but at least I have a clear conscience,” he said at last. There were some things money couldn’t buy, like not being evil.

“Take a few days to consider it,” Slade suggested. “The offer is still open for the rest of the week.”

Dick rolled his eyes. “I’ll keep it in mind,” he said sarcastically. “Now, don’t you have somewhere to be? I need to eat and go to work.”

Slade stepped close and ran a hand along Dick’s cheek. “How about I make you breakfast while you get ready for work?” he asked. 

“Hate the thought of me eating sugary cereal?” Dick teased.

“You might lose muscle tone if you don’t eat right.” Slade dropped his hands to grab Dick’s ass. “And that would be a damn shame.”

Dick sputtered and blushed, then hurried to get dressed while Slade fried bacon and eggs in the kitchen.

-

It felt good to start the day with a breakfast that didn’t leave him instantly hungry. (He did have his regular candy bar at work just to get his sugar fix, but he was able to slowly savor it instead of hungrily scarf it down.) And as nice as spending time with Slade had been, Dick resolved not to even consider the job offer. Working with Slade, even if the jobs were legal was a recipe for disaster. And a recipe for a disapproving Bruce.

However, as hard as he tried not to, Dick found he couldn’t help thinking about the job offer as the day wore on. He thought about it as he scrubbed the counter and mopped the floor at work in between customers. How did bars get so sticky all the time anyway? He considered the offer again when a customer dropped an empty glass, and shards shattered all over the floor.

Testing security systems could be fun. It’d be challenging, and all the clients could really do with the information would be to prevent people from breaking in, so really, not an unethical job. Maybe even a helpful job, if the security systems were for keeping bad guys out. And Slade had said himself, Dick was already too set in his ways to be trained as Renegade, and he didn’t expect Dick to ever kill someone. Maybe the Mercenary was just trying to help out. And it was getting tiring rescuing people as Nightwing, then working shifts at the bar picking up after slobs. He did enjoy the company at the bar, and the opportunity to get so much insight into Bludhaven’s community, but still, it would be nice to work fewer hours, and maybe even sleep in after crime-fighting.

After cleaning the last of the glass off the floor (and he hadn’t even gotten a good tip from the customer either), Dick opened his phone and texted Slade _. So, how much would the security system testing job pay? Just theoretically._

Slade texted back within ten minutes. _It would depend on the results. At least $5,000, though I’m sure you could easily make 25,000 per contract._

Dick almost dropped his phone. There had to be a catch. He couldn’t make almost as much on one job as he did in a year bar tending. Not that he really cared about the money, he really just needed enough to get by and support himself. _How much of a time commitment would it be?_ He texted _._

_Again, that would depend on the job. Not more than a week at a time, though you could easily complete one in a day, maybe two._

Dick chewed on his bottom lip, considering. He knew money wasn’t everything, but not having enough for essentials was dangerous. And it would seriously clear up his schedule and allow him to spend more time as Nightwing if he could make enough to live on in a few days. Heck, if he ended up with extra money, he could secretly pay his neighbor’s rent, or donate it to charity. Or upgrade his gear without Bruce’s help. Maybe he’d just try out one job, to see how it went. _Can I let you know next week? I don’t have another day off until next Monday,_ Dick texted. A few of his shifts until then were half-days, but Slade didn’t need to know.

Let Slade think he spent more time considering it. It’s be embarrassing if he thought Dick had changed his mind in one day.

_Certainly. I’ll see you then._


	9. Chapter 9

The rest of the week passed in a blur of bar-tending and fighting bad guys, not always at different times. Bruce didn’t ask for his help, so it must have been quiet in Gotham. Or quiet enough that Bruce didn’t feel the need to ask for help.

Dick did make enough time to go watch Saturday morning cartoons and train with Tim at the Manor, since he didn’t have to work until late afternoon on weekends.

He stretched out on the couch, a bowl of popcorn on one side, while Tim pressed into his other side, snacking from his own bowl of popcorn, and occasionally giving Dick careful looks.

The careful looks continued even as they practiced sparring. Dick wasn’t sure what it was about. Tim was quiet, quieter than usual, and almost seemed distracted. Tim did break into a quick grin when Dick performed a few unnecessary flips in the middle of their sparring match. Having perfect timing as always, Bruce entered the cave just as Dick’s shirt happened to ride up in the back, revealing an impressive bruise along his lower back.

“What happened,” Bruce asked harshly, stalking over and lifting up Dick’s shirt to get a better look at the bruise.

Dick yanked his shirt back down before Bruce could see the scratches and welts on his back – at least he hoped he did. “Just some thugs that got lucky,” Dick reassured him. “Nothing too bad.”

“Be more careful,” Bruce growled, then stomped away, his foul mood following him like a dark cloud.

Dick winced and felt a pang of disappointment that Bruce hadn’t even offered to help him treat the bruising.

“He’s been kind of weird since a new villain showed up this week,” Tim whispered. “He won’t even let me access the files on the case.”

Dick frowned. “Better listen to Bruce and be careful,” he told Tim. “I might stop by and check it out when I get a chance.”

-

On Monday, Slade showed up bright and early before Dick had even finished his bowl of Crocky Crunch. 

“Here,” he said, throwing a heavy black duffel bag at Dick. “Consider this part of your deposit.”

“I haven’t even decided if I’m going to take the job yet,” Dick said as he caught the bag and placed it on the table. “Don’t you think that’s a little presumptuous?”

Slade just frowned at Dick’s bowl of sugary cereal as if it had personally offended him, then walked over and unzipped the bag. “That’s why it’s a deposit,” he explained. “Besides, you don’t have the right equipment for the job, and getting it now will save time.”

“Right equipment for the job?” Dick asked, peering into the bag to see a black Kevlar outfit and combat boots on the top.

“Unless you plan on wearing your Nightwing gear,” Slade said with a shrug. “But I thought you’d want to use a different identity.”

“I was planning on wearing dark clothes and a ski mask,” Dick said. “Why do I have to dress up like I’m about to be ambushed by the secret police to test some rich guy’s security system?”

“You’re smart enough to figure it out,” Slade grunted.

“Wait, so I’m also going to be testing his armed guards? How was this not mentioned before?” He folded his arms across his chest. “This seems more like a job for you.” Not that Dick didn’t think that he could avoid getting shot, but still, what if the guys shot each other? He didn’t want that kind of carnage on his conscience for a job.

“Why do you think it pays so well?” Slade asked. “They’ll be using non-lethal rounds for the exercise. And the employer, Harry Dunlap, was very pleased when I told him he didn’t have to worry about you killing his people.”

“Wait, what?”

“For this kind of job, he’d normally deduct $2,000 for every guard maimed or killed. But still, accidents can happen. Probably fortunate for them that you’re taking the job instead of someone less ethical.”

Dick felt like he might be sick. He nodded. He couldn’t back out now. If he turned the job down, he’d have to forever wonder if any of the guy’s security guards died because someone else took the job. He lifted the jacket and frowned at the equipment beneath. “So the less-lethal rounds are-”

“Sometimes rubber bullets, paintballs for this exercise to keep track of the shots. Thought you’d get a kick out of it.”

Dick couldn’t hold back a grin. Okay, maybe this would be fun. “Sounds great,” he said. “I get paid $25,000 to play paintball? Are you going to play too? Ooh, maybe we could meet the guards before hand so I can get a feel for their team dynamic. That’ll make it a lot more like a game.”

Slade chuckled and shook his head. “No. It’s a one-person job. And it’s only $25,000 if you successfully hack into the security system and physically enter and exit. Which I’m sure you will.” Slade paused to hand Dick a printout of the job description. “When you hack into Mr. Dunlap’s security system as part of the job, you can access the personnel files if you want. It’s not required.”

“Oh, it’s definitely going to be a part of the job,” Dick said, setting the notes aside and picking up his bowl of almost forgotten cereal and taking a bite. “I have to be able to make up an inner monologue as they’re chasing after me.”

Slade scoffed, but there was a fond look on his face. “I’ll let Mr. Dunlap know you’re taking the job. We can go over the details this morning, after we have some _fun_ ,” Slade emphasized the word with a leer. “And then you can start tonight.”

-

There was still one detail nagging at the back of Dick’s mind. Namely how he was going to sign up and get paid, if all the guy knew him as was ‘anonymous contractor recommended by Deathstroke’. It was one of the drawbacks of being well-known in his civilian identity. Right after sex probably wasn’t the best time to bring it up, but if he didn’t, it was going to bother him for the rest of the day. “Hey, if I’m not going as Nightwing or Dick Grayson, who am I going as?”

Slade sighed and pulled him closer. “Your options are either to create a new alias, or use one that isn’t associated with the bat.”

“Could I be Julian Gregory Day II, Calendar Man’s secret son?” Dick asked.

Slade reddened and made a choking noise that may or may not have been a laugh. “If that’s what you want,” he managed after a short while of trying to suck in enough air.

“Yeah, I think that’s good.” Dick paused, thinking up a good background story for his alias. The trick to a convincing secret identity was the backstory. “Calendar Man was always a distant father, but he did it to protect little Julian, really, since he had no powers, and was small for his age growing up. He made sure Julian was well trained, sending him to live with his elderly grandparents in Florida, and sending enough money to hire the best martial arts teacher that money could buy. But then Calendar Man ended up in Arkham for a long time, and poor Julian was left to fend for himself. Fortunately, he was very skilled with computer programs, and soon was able to support himself with a series of petty crimes.

Calendar Man probably doesn’t know if his son is alive or dead at this point, and now Julian has returned to Gotham, taking mercenary jobs to slowly save enough money to dramatically reveal himself to his father one day.”

Slade was making a face that looked torn between impressed and annoyed. “There’s no need to go into so much detail or be convincing. All they really care about in this work is how good you are at your job.”

“I care,” Dick insisted. “I wouldn’t be able to focus if I had to use an identity without a proper backstory.”

Slade rolled his eye. “I’ll have the Identification forged and set up a bank account for ‘Julian’. It should be finished by the time your employer needs to pay you.”

Dick blinked. He had forgotten about all the paperwork involved. “Working for the bad guys is tiring,” he complained. “Am I going to have to go to the bank disguised as Julian to take my money out? Hey, does that mean Julian has to pay his taxes too? Aww man, and I thought doing them once a year was bad. And Julian is the kind of guy who always pays his taxes, so he doesn’t go to prison for tax evasion.”

“Since the job is unofficial, you’d have to enter each one with a special substitute W-2 form.”

Dick rolled over onto his stomach and groaned. “Don’t they have a special mercenary form? Like with a checkbox on whether or not you killed someone?” He turned his face away from the pillow and tried to give Slade a flirtatious look. “Can you do it for me?”

Slade reached over and smacked Dick’s ass. “Don’t push your luck. I’ll _show_ you how to do it.”

-

It wasn’t too hard to hack into Harry Dunlap’s network, and Dick did it easily from his kitchen table, before he even left for the fun part of the job. 

“Make sure you take notes on where you got in, and where the weaknesses in the system are,” Slade reminded as he sat across from Dick and watched him work. “If you’re detailed enough in your report, you’ll get a bonus.”

“Yes, _mother_ ,” Dick snarked, but jotted a few numbers down on his napkin anyway so they would be easier to remember later.

Then all too soon Dick was pulling on the heavy Kevlar enforced outfit, complete with combat boots, gloves, full facemask, and thigh holsters for his paintball guns. “This is heavier than I’m used to, I feel like one of the over-protected bad guys right before they get blown up,” Dick complained. It was maybe a little too reminiscent of his Renegade outfit. (Though it didn’t have any markings, so at least there was that.)

“You’ll get used to it,” Slade said, eying him appreciatively. “It looks good on you.”

“It’d look even better on my bedroom floor,” Dick teased. “Maybe you could take it off me later.”

Slade snorted at the over-the-top flirting, but moved closer to run a hand down Dick’s side. “The sooner you get the job done, the sooner I can do just that,” he whispered, hot breath tickling Dick’s ear.

Dick shivered despite himself. “All right then, I’m off to play paintball with Zac, Phil, Larry, Melvin, and Louise. Wish me luck!”

“I almost feel sorry for them, since they’re going to have to put up with you for the next few hours,” Slade mused. “Maybe I should be wishing them luck instead.”

Dick stuck his tongue out at Slade as he left.

-

Harry Dunlap’s place was an enormous old mansion, almost as large as Wayne Manor. The grounds were neatly manicured, the grass almost golf-course like in shortness and perfection, broken in places with an abstract, sprawling design of flower beds, shrubs and trees. Dick noted all the places where the shrubbery obscured the view next to the building, both for his entry, and for his report later. There was a pear tree planted too close to the wall lining the grounds, and it was an easy jump from the top of the wall to a tree branch without setting off any of the perimeter alarms. Dick snorted at the spikes that lined the top of the wall – as if that would ever stop a professional.

If Dick had really been planning to break in for real, he probably would have waited until the next day, and posed as a landscape worker to sneak in, and ‘accidentally’ get lost in the mansion during a water break. But playing paintball at night was just too fun of an opportunity to pass up. And Dick figured why give Harry more information than he was paying for.

As Dick cautiously approached the house from one side, partially sheltered by a willow tree, he noted that Zac was outside on a smoke break. Zac was an ex-marine, but his smoking habit was a huge weakness that made it really easy to tell where he was, and occupied at least some of his attention every few hours. Dick wrinkled his nose at the smell, almost wishing he had entered upwind instead of downwind.

Dick waited until Zac had a coughing fit, then took the opportunity to dart over behind a bush beside the foundation, keeping to the shadows. His grappling gun would have been really useful at a time like this, but it was loud, and really, it wasn’t that much effort for Dick to climb to the second or third story. Dick melted into the shadows and started climbing as he heard one of the other guards approach Zac.

“Are you done with your smoke break yet?” Melvin asked. 

“Relax,” Zac said as he cleared his throat. “I’m keeping an eye on the exterior. No one’s even thinking about getting inside while I’m out here.”

“Yeah,” Melvin said, and he sounded nervous, scared almost, but that was probably because he was the newest hire. “Won’t the motion detectors let us know when he’s here though?”

Dick held back a laugh. The tree on the edge of the property had allowed him to easily bypass the motion detector. And having motion detectors only on the first floor was a huge weakness that he was about to exploit.

“The system should work, but it’s always good to keep a close eye on the cameras just in case the guy’s any good,” Zac said. “Go watch the monitors with Phil.”

Melvin made an unhappy noise. “Larry’s in there now talking about magic cards or something.”

“Go back in,” Zac said. “If the guy doesn’t show in another hour I’ll buy you pizza later tonight.”

Dick felt a pang of disappointment. This was going to be almost too easy. Zac was outside, thinking he was being useful, Larry, Phil and Melvin were watching the monitors, and likely distracted, which really only left Louise as a threat (and she was the guard Dick considered potentially the most dangerous). With a house this large, Louise would likely be guarding either the main stairway on the first floor, or Dunlap’s private office on the third floor. It was unlikely that she would be waiting for him on the fourth floor, unless she anticipated that Dick would be extra enough to climb farther than he had to – but most people wouldn’t, therefore it was a pretty good bet that Louise was currently on either the first or third floor.)

Dick decided that ultimately, Louise was a problem that would be dealt with after he finished climbing into the house. The old brick exterior made it easy to find jagged handholds amid the crumbling mortar, but still, Dick was starting to feel the exertion, especially with a heavier suit. Dick climbed to a fourth-floor window, carefully pried it open, then heaved himself through.

The hall was quiet and empty, score one for being extra. Dick flattened himself against the wall. Though he could easily hack the system and put in loped footage, it was fun to see if he could sneak in using blind spots.

-

Louise was on the third floor, frowning at her communicator. “Are you sure he’s not here yet?” she asked. “He gets a bonus if he’s done by midnight, that’d be cutting it close if he wasn’t already here.”

Zac’s voice came through the other side. “You worry too much, Louise. Maybe he’s running late.”

“I don’t like it,” Louise muttered, drawing her weapon and heading down the hall. Louise had a deceptively benign background, with just enough random Triad associations that she’d probably be lethal in a fight. Dick was sure he’d win if he had to face her, but why take a chance? She was also the most likely to ‘accidentally’ be armed with a non-paintball weapon. Again, Dick didn’t particularly want to find out the painful way.

Dick moved silently from the stairs as Louise disappeared down the hall.

Harry’s private office was locked with a standard lock, and Dick rolled his eyes as he picked it. The guy seriously needed to upgrade his security. Cracking the safe took a few more minutes, but was disappointingly easy. Dick took a selfie in front of the open safe, and sent it to the group chat he had with Slade and Harry. The he slipped the blue token in the safe into one of his front pockets.

Dick exited the office, only to see Louise at the end of the hall.

“He’s already here, just like I told you guys!” Louise whispered angrily into her communicator. Then she started firing at Dick.

Dick flipped easily out of the way, cartwheeling down the hall. The green paintballs splattered harmlessly against the wall. “I figured I’d at least get to play paintball with you, Louise,” Dick quipped as he landed and fired back. Only, his facemask muffled his voice, and he wasn’t sure if Louise had caught the whole thing. Typical Slade to give him a mask but no voice modulator.

Louise staggered and hissed as a paintball hit her in the knee, and two more hit her thigh.

Dick used her disorientation to rush past and jump on the staircase railing and start to slide down. He dodged a few more paintballs from Louise, and built up enough momentum at the end to catapult himself towards the chandelier in the main hall.

Dick grinned to himself as he swung from the chandelier. Imagine if Alfred or Bruce found out that sliding down the stairs and swinging from the chandelier actually had become useful skills one day. Dick swung out and landed softly on the floor, then he strolled leisurely to the door and opened it, as Louise thumped angrily down the stairs calling for the guys. Zac came barreling around the corner, and Dick shot him in the chest, then quickly closed the door as a barrage of paintballs hit it.

Dick was able to run to the pear tree and climb up by the time Louise, Zac, Larry, Phil and Melvin made it outside. He made it to the wall, and took another selfie to send to the group chat with Slade and Harry.

He could faintly hear Melvin complaining about ‘not getting any pizza tonight’, as he jumped down and disappeared into the night.

-

Honestly, Dick had no idea what to expect when he returned from his job. He definitely didn’t expect Slade to be there waiting for him.

“I take it the job went well?” Slade asked, standing up from Dick’s kitchen table, where he had probably been working on evil mercenary stuff on his phone.

Dick pulled his facemask off and flopped onto the couch. “Yeah, it was good.” He grinned up at Slade as he approached. “Almost too easy.”

“You underestimate your skills,” Slade said, joining Dick on the couch.

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot, I have to write up that report for Harry,” Dick said with a yawn.

“It can wait,” Slade said, and leaned in, pulling off one of Dick’s gloves. “I haven’t forgotten you wanted to see this suit on your bedroom floor next.”

Slade gently undressed him, kissing skin as he moved. Dick shivered. Slade was different than he’d been before, almost gentle. He moved slowly but efficiently, ending up on the floor between Dick’s knees as he removed the boots, which Dick doubted was a coincidence at all. 

Dick spread his legs wider. “What’s this, do I get a blow job for a job well done?” he teased.

Slade kissed the side of his knee, moving to his inner thigh, biting gently. “It’s whatever you want it to be,” he said.

And okay, holy shit, having Slade in front of him on his knees was a lot hotter than Dick ever thought possible. “Sounds great,” he said, scooting forward.

Slade slapped the side of his thigh then pressed down firmly to hold him in place. “Patience. It’ll be worth the wait. I promise.”

And Dick found out after Slade kissed and bit a trail up his thighs, it was indeed worth the wait when Slade finally slowly engulfed him.


	10. Chapter 10

The next time Dick visited the Manor, Bruce seemed stressed. His frown lines were more prominent than usual, his eyes were bloodshot with bluish tinged bags underneath, and he seemed to have gained a few more gray hairs.

“Dick,” Bruce greeted him, with a glance back over his shoulder as he answered the door. Then he frowned. “Don’t you have to work?”

“Nope!” Dick said cheerfully. “I got a second job and readjusted my hours.”

Bruce frowned. “Will that interfere with-”

“I’m actually ending up with more free time for Vigilante work,” Dick said.

Bruce ran a hand through his hair. “That’s good, I, uh, could use your help. I have a lot going on right now.”

Dick smiled widely. “Sure Bruce.”

-

It turned out that Bruce had acquired yet another kid, only this one was actually biologically his, and Talia had dropped him off at the Manor a few days ago. And apparently, Bruce needed a babysitter who could deal with an angry little hellion trained by the League of Assassins.

“It’s just that I’ve got a lot going on, tracking down the Red Hood is taking most of my time and I-” Bruce tried to explain.

“You need someone to train with him,” Dick finished. “Sure thing Bruce.” Then Dick frowned. “Red Hood. Isn’t that Joker’s old alias? Do you need any help with-”

Bruce’s lips tightened. “It’s someone with a Joker fixation, I’ll take care of it myself. Just help out with Damian,” he grit out, then disappeared to continue his work in the Bat Cave.

Dick felt a pang of disappointment that Bruce wasn’t letting him help on the case. He wasn’t letting Tim help either, so maybe the case was…personal. Either that or Bruce was in a more rotten than usual mood.

“Father mentioned you were a better fighter than Drake,” Damian said pompously as he entered the room. He stood there for a minute, sizing Dick up, giving the impression of trying to act much older than his years.

“You’ve practiced with Tim already?” Dick asked. And maybe it could be fun to hang out in the Manor and train with Tim and Damian. 

Damian folded his arms and scowled. “Ttt, I’d hardly consider soundly defeating that weakling ‘practice’.”

“Huh,” Dick said. Damian was probably going to be a challenge.

-

Twenty minutes into their sparring session, Damian was already a little ball of rage, red faced and huffing. “Face me and fight, Grayson,” he screamed.

Dick flipped easily past him again. “I am fighting you. You just haven’t landed a hit yet,” Dick teased.

Damian ran at him again, and Dick stepped easily out of the way.

“You are simply evading me,” Damian snarled. “That isn’t fighting.”

“Sure it is,” Dick said. “It works well for defense, tires out your opponent, and cuts down on injuries in the field.”

Damian paused in his attack and raised an eyebrow. “I’m not a child, don’t patronize me. If you refuse to use offensive maneuvers with me, how can I practice my own defense?”

“How about this? Land a hit, then I’ll attack you for real,” Dick suggested.

“Very well,” Damian snarled, then came at him again.

-

One hour later, Damian finally agreed to end the fight.

“Very well,” he said, holding himself upright out of sheer will, though his arms and legs were trembling. “We’ll consider it a draw.”

“Sure thing,” Dick said, and ruffled his hair. Aside from all the rage issues, he was a cute kid.

Damian scowled deeply. “I am merely agreeing to a draw for this one time. Now that I’ve had a chance to become more accustomed to your style, I will defeat you soundly next time. Then father will have no choice but to take me on as his partner to Batman and one true heir.”

Dick rolled his eyes. Okay, maybe Damian could stand to chill, a lot. But he didn’t blame the kid, not really. Not when Damian basically had his childhood ripped away by Talia and the League. And Bruce probably wasn’t helping.

Dick laughed. “Sure thing, squirt. Now how about we go get a snack? Do you want ice cream?”

Damian sputtered, then regained his composure and looked down his nose at Dick. “I’m sure the nutritional supplement Pennyworth has prepared will be adequate,” he said primly.

Dick sighed. He definitely had his work cut out for him. “Sure, whatever. Hey, how about we race to the kitchen, winner gets to pick the next activity?” Dick said, then took off, running up the Cave stairs two at a time.

“Not fair Grayson, you had a head start,” Damian raged and scrambled to catch up.

-

“Grayson, this activity is inane, I fail to see the purpose of it,” Damian complained as he stood on one edge of the couch.

“It’s just a game. Haven’t you ever played ‘the floor is lava’ before?” Dick asked, from where he stood on a chair.

“I have no need for childish nonsense,” Damian insisted, even as he leaped from the couch to an armchair.

“Sure you do,” Dick said. “What if you ever have to go undercover and act like a regular kid to infiltrate a criminal organization?” Dick asked. “You’d need to be familiar enough with what kids considered fun to blend in.”

Damian paused in thought. “Very well. I concede you have a point,” he admitted. “I suppose a few days of indulging in an overview of childish pursuits will not negatively affect my training. After all, I have more than adequate skills, father merely needs to recognize I am more than capable of assisting him.”

“Huh,” Dick said. “Okay, well we can play tag outside next and then go on a run through the woods.”

“Very well,” Damian agreed, though he didn’t look unhappy at the prospect.

-

By 9 p.m. Damian was sound asleep, snoring loudly in his bed.

Tim stared in shock, hobbling over to get a good look, as if he couldn’t believe it was true. “You tired out the Demon Brat? Can you come over every day?”

Dick sighed, and took in Tim’s bruises and bandages. “He’s a handful, huh? Hopefully he’ll calm down soon.”

Tim scowled. “He’s a miniature supervillain already.”

“Speaking of supervillains, what’s up with Bruce and his Red Hood case?” Dick asked, walking softly away from Damian’s room as not to accidentally wake the kid.

“I’m not sure,” Tim admitted. “Bruce hasn’t been taking me with him on patrol any more after Red Hood attacked me last week.”

Dick paused. “Wait, all your injuries aren’t from Damian?”

Tim grimaced. “Just the most recent ones.”

Dick’s heart broke a little. “Well, take care of yourself. Dumb question, but did you find anything out the one time you did see Red Hood?”

Tim shook his head. 

“How about we find out?” Dick asked.

-

It was quiet in Gotham, more quiet than usual, as if all the minor villains were hiding from the threat of a larger predator.

Dick had suited up and gone out on his own, with Tim on the comms to back him up. They’d hacked into Bruce’s private files on the Batcomputer, but whatever notes Bruce had on the case, they weren’t there. Which seemed suspicious.

“If I find him, I’ll beat him up for you, Tim,” Dick teased.

“Oracle says Bruce is staying in the Crime Alley area right now,” Tim said

\--

Nightwing landed silently on the roof, approaching Red Hood from the back. “Nice night for some bird-watching?” he quipped. “All cloudy with a chance of chemical fog-”

Red Hood whipped around and decked Nightwing in one motion. And okay, it had been kind of dumb to approach him like that, but Dick hadn’t expected his reflexes to be so good. He rolled with the punch, putting enough distance between them for his next move.

Dick managed to doge most of the bullets, except one apparently, as he felt a searing pain in his thigh and stumbled to the ground.

“Stay out of my way, dick,” Red Hood growled through his voice modulator.

“Okay, rude,” Nightwing said, curling his leg in and putting pressure on the wound. “You don’t even know me.”

Red Hood didn’t reply and grappled off the side of the building.

Dick scooted over to the side of the building and threw a wingding at the grappling line, slicing it while Red Hood was still in the air. Unfortunately, he was close enough to the ground to tuck into a ball and make a decent landing.

“Nightwing! Are you okay?” Tim shouted over the comms.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Dick said as he carefully examined the wound with a wince. “Just a bullet wound, looks like just a graze. Fortunately it missed the femoral artery.”

“I’ll call B and have him pick you up,” Tim said, and he sounded on the verge of tears.

“I think I can make it back,” Nightwing said. “Have Oracle send B my location and tell him I cut Hood’s grappling line here.”

“Did you get him?” Tim asked, awed.

“No, but he probably got a bit roughed up by the landing, and it looks like he might be moving slower now.”

“Okay, I’ll let Batman know.” Tim sniffed. “Just be careful and get back here.”

-

Alfred and Tim met Dick back at the cave. Tim was hovering nervously, fidgeting and trying not to look nervous.

Alfred took one look at the wound and sighed, seeming to deflate. “I suppose you won’t be able to tire Master Damian out as easily tomorrow,” he remarked dryly.

Dick hopped up onto the exam table, using his good leg. “I’ll find another way to keep him busy.”

“I certainly hope so,” Alfred said as he opened the med kit. “He does tend to destroy the Manor and surrounding grounds when bored.”

Dick peeled the lower half of his suit off. It was only when he saw Alfred’s raised eyebrow and heard Tim’s gasp that he remembered the bite marks Slade had left on his leg.

“Dick, how did-”

“Master Timothy, perhaps you should get ready for bed,” Alfred suggested, picking up the needle and vial of alcohol.

Dick felt his face heat up. “Alfred, I-”

“Those were consensual, I hope, Master Richard?” Alfred asked.

Dick nodded. “Yeah.”

“Very good,” Alfred said crisply, then prepared to clean and stitch the wound.

-

Batman was not pleased, his face pressed into a scowl when he returned to the cave.

“I told you to leave this case to me,” Bruce growled, menacingly glowering over Dick’s shoulder. He frowned at a few of the bruises on Dick’s leg, but didn’t say anything.

“Did I slow him down any?” Dick asked hopefully.

“No,” Bruce said. “He got away.”

Dick considered how Red Hood had addressed him, it had almost sounded like he had called him by name, though it could have been a coincidence. “Who was that, Bruce?” Dick asked. “Does he know who we are or-”

“It’s complicated,” Bruce said, stomping away up into the Manor.

-

“I see you weren’t fast enough to dodge a bullet,” Damian remarked snidely over breakfast the next morning.

“Cool it, pipsqueak,” Tim countered.

“No it’s a good lesson, Tim,” Dick said, adjusted his elevated leg. “There’s always someone better than you expect.”

“There’s no one out there better than me,” Damian huffed.

“Or, someone who gets a lucky shot,” Dick finished with a glare at Damian.

Damian sat back in his seat and glared, but didn’t talk back.

And although he complained it was childish, Damian reluctantly agreed to watch cartoons, since Dick had been injured, and couldn’t be expected to run about the Manor with a bullet wound. He eventually ended up curled into Dick’s side on the couch, with Tim on Dick’s other side. It was almost perfect.

Perfect until he noticed Bruce hovering in the doorway. “Dick, I need to talk with you,” Bruce said, an aggravated frown on his forehead.

“Sorry, B, I can’t really move now,” Dick joked, pointing to Tim and Damian, who had both fallen asleep next to him.

“Dick, I, noticed that you’ve had a lot of bruising lately,” Bruce said, looking supremely uncomfortable. “Suggestive bruising. Are you in a relationship now or-”

Dick blushed, and felt anger building in his chest. Why did Bruce always have to know everything and try to control his life? While at the same time refuse to tell Dick anything? “If you won’t even tell me what’s going on with the Red Hood case, why should I tell you?” he whispered.

Bruce exhaled heavily. “Fine, if you’re going to be childish about it, I won’t ask. I just hope you’re being responsible.”

Dick fought the urge to stick out his tongue. “Yes, I am being responsible,” he said, allowing himself a huge sigh.

Bruce grumbled and retreated, probably back to the Batcave to keep more secrets. As much as Dick loved hanging out with Tim, Damian and Alfred, he wasn’t sure if he could handle another day of Bruce’s frowning disapproval.

\--

After Alfred brought him back to Bludhaven, Dick opened his phone to find he had a few unread messages from Slade.

.

_Grayson, let me know when you’re free._

_._

_Harry was pleased with the job. The money is deposited in your account now._

_._

_In fact, he was so pleased, that a few of his rich friends want to hire you now._

_._

_Good work, that’s how you make it this line of work. You’ve already established your reputation in one job._

_._

_Harry’s neighbor Eveline is offering $30,000._

.

Dick sighed and texted back. _Can’t do it now, have a bullet wound_.

Slade texted back _: I see. Do I need to come over and make sure you take care of yourself?_

Dick smiled despite himself. _Can’t wait to take advantage of me now that I’m slowed down?_


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much for all the comments, I really appreciate it! I plan on responding to all of them individually eventually, but I'm going to try finish writing the rest of the story first. :D

Slade examined the bullet wound, and made Dick lay down with his leg propped up on a pillow. “It’s not deep, fortunately,” he said. “You’ll need a few days of rest, but can start working in a light training routine starting now.”

“I was planning on eating Crocky Crunch and watching cartoons for a week,” Dick teased. Partially because he had planned on vegging out for at least a few days, and partially to see how much he could aggravate Slade.

Slade snorted. “I’m surprised you managed to last this long if that’s your usual recovery plan. Does Batman let you convalesce for a week and eat garbage every time you’re injured?”

Dick scowled. “Batman doesn’t get to tell me what to do anymore.”

“I see,” Slade said, and it might have been Dick’s imagination, but he could have sworn he saw a smile on Slade’s lips for a moment. “Will you listen to any of my recommendations? I promise at least some will be _fun_.”

Dick felt his face heat up. “Maybe I will, if I want to,” he managed. He didn’t want to give Slade the idea that Dick would listen to him and not Bruce.

“How about a trade?” Slade suggested. “For example, I’ll give you a massage for every healthy meal that you eat.”

Dick furrowed his brow as if it was a difficult decision. Might as well make Slade think he had to work for it. “How healthy of a meal?” he asked.

Slade ran a hand along Dick’s leg. “I was thinking we’d have steak, onions and broccoli for dinner.”

That was leaving out most of Dick’s favorite food groups. “What about dessert?” he asked.

Slade glowered. “I’ll make carrots or sweet potatoes.”

Dick pouted. “Carrots are not dessert; they are a vegetable.”

“Carrot muffins.” Slade compromised.

“Only if they have cream cheese frosting and carrot shaped frosting on top,” Dick said, giving Slade a wide grin that he hoped was endearing.

Slade sighed heavily. “Fine. I’ll pick one single muffin up from the bakery down the street.”

“Aww, you don’t want one?” Dick teased. “Maybe you need more sweetness in your life-”

Slade gave a smug grin. “I already have more than enough sweetness in my life,” he said, and gave Dick a quick peck on the lips.

“Okay, that was so cheesy I’m embarrassed for you,” Dick said, fighting back a blush.

And later, Dick did have to admit that Slade’s healthy meal was filling, and it did feel good as Slade kneaded out the tension in his lower back. He could get used to this.

-

This wasn’t the way he ever expected to attempt to get Renegade back, Slade thought as he entered the bakery. Who knew that subtle manipulation and kindness were so much more effective than force and threats? Maybe things would have worked out differently with his children if he’d tried this method earlier, and Slade briefly wondered if Rose was still young enough for him to find out. Perhaps he’d try later, once Dick was more firmly under his control. After all, Dick was only ‘temporarily’ agreeing to train with Slade for the time being until he healed.

The Bat had given him an opportunity, driving Dick away, and it would be so easy to carefully drive an even bigger wedge between the two of them once Batman ‘accidentally’ discovered Dick’s new source of income. Slade was half-convinced Bruce would become suspicious enough to look into things on his own, but if he wasn’t, a few anonymous tips would likely be all the information Slade would need to leak.

Though, as he paid for one dozen gooey sugary brownies that were sure to give anyone without a superhero workout regimen instant diabetes, Slade couldn’t help but think that Dick was almost as good at manipulation as he was.

-

Training and sparring with Slade wasn’t as terrible as Dick remembered, but maybe that had something to do with the fact that Slade was just helping Dick get over an injury this time instead of training him as Renegade. They took frequent breaks, Slade praised Dick’s skills in ways that made Dick flush with pleasure, and Slade would even bring him treats from the bakery at the end of each session. Definitely a lot more fun that surviving on MREs, being constantly yelled at, and getting pummeled.

“I was thinking I’d stop by the Manor tomorrow,” Dick said through a mouthful of brownie.

Slade gave him a sharp look. “Back to Nightwing already? You’re barely recovered.”

“I’m not going to patrol, just check on Tim and Damian,” Dick said, licking the chocolate off his fingers and watching as Slade’s eye followed his tongue.

“I see,” Slade said, sounding slightly displeased. “I would appreciate more notice in the future, if I’m going to clear my schedule to help you train.”

Dick considered his options. He really didn’t want to deal with Bruce, and as curious as he was about the case, maybe it was better left alone until he fully recovered. And Slade had been giving up a lot of potential work just to help Dick recover. “I guess Tim and Dami can wait until this weekend,” he said with an easy shrug. “I should be recovered by then, don’t you think?”

Slade nodded, and looked pleased. “I think that’s an excellent idea,” he said. “By the way, have you given any consideration as to which job you might take next? Taking an easy one might be a good way to gauge how much you’ve recovered.”

Truthfully, Dick hadn’t really thought about the security jobs, it was just something he resolved not to think about until his funds got low again and he needed the money. “I guess I should, huh?” Dick said. “They fired me at the bar for calling off too many days in a row, so I’ll have to work somewhere when I run out of money again.”

Slade mad a dismissive sound. “You were wasting your talents at the bar. However, I’d recommend not waiting until you need money to take another job, the work can be sporadic and unpredictable if you don’t make the effort to keep your reputation up.”

Dick nodded. “I guess I’m lucky I have you to explain things, aren’t I?” he teased.

“Extremely,” Slade said, moving forward to pull Dick into a hug.

Dick pulled Slade’s hands lower, down to his hips and grinned. “I can think of a way to “repay” you,” he said. Not that Dick wouldn’t have sex with Slade otherwise, but if he could get something else out of it, so much the better.

Slade smirked and squeezed Dick’s ass. “I’ll have to give you work tips more often if this is how I get paid.”

\--

The security job for Eveline wasn’t too challenging, and Dick only had one bruise on his knee where a guard had gotten a lucky shot and paint-balled him. The rest of the bruises on his body were from Slade. Most were easy to cover up, but there were a few on his neck that were aggravatingly hard to hide while still wearing normal clothes. Eventually Dick settled for using concealer, since he didn’t need a repeat of his family’s freak-out like last time.

Dick waited until he knew Bruce would be at work, then came over to visit at the Manor with the newest video game he knew Tim had been eyeing. 

“Wow, thanks,” Tim said as Dick pressed the game into his hands. Then he frowned. “This is kind of expensive, are you sure-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dick said, and ruffled Tim’s hair.

“Grayson,” Damian said, watching him uncertainly with folded arms. “I see you’ve recovered. Do you care for a rematch, or do you plan on childishly indulging Drake’s video game addiction the entire time you’re here?”

“Don’t be jealous, I brought a gift for you too,” Dick said, taking out an adorable stuffed animal he couldn’t pass up at the store. It was a soft and cuddly puppy, and he had figured a child assassin could use something soft and cuddly.

“I’m not a child,” Damian said, though he accepted the toy and ran his fingers through the synthetic fur. “Though I suppose this might make an acceptable accessory for my room, to convince Manor visitors that I’m an ordinary child, if need be.”

“Speaking of being an ordinary child, want me to teach you how to beat Tim in video games?” Dick asked Damian. Maybe having Tim and Damian fight each other on screen would cause less injuries in real life. Dick could hope.

“You’d have to be able to beat me first, if you think you can teach the Demon-Spawn how to beat me,” Tim teased, running over to set up the game on one of the Manor’s giant TV screens.

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt to learn another method to defeat Drake,” Damian mused, slipping his hand into Dick’s as they followed Tim.

-

Much later, after they were surrounded by piles of popcorn, chips and chocolates, and Damian had fallen asleep mid marathon, Tim turned to Dick, looking serious.

“I think I found out what Bruce was hiding about the case,” he said.

“Really?” Dick asked straightening up. 

“Yeah, it might be too late now, but I thought you should know,” Tim said all in a jumble. “I mean, I know you don’t get along with Bruce sometimes, and he probably had a good reason for keeping this from us, but-”

“Hey, don’t worry, I won’t let Bruce know you told me,” Dick said.

Tim eyed Dick carefully. “It’s not me I’m worried about. Bruce doesn’t know I found out anyway, but I saw some of his video feed from his last confrontation with the Red Hood, right before the explosion. I never met Jason, so I don’t know for sure if it was him, but…”

Dick didn’t have an immediate response. No, that couldn’t be right Jason was _dead._ Maybe it was a clone or a sick joke, or Clayface. “Jason?” he whispered after a moment. “Seriously?”

“As far as I can tell,” Tim said, folding in on himself on the couch. “Bruce seems to think so too.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” Dick said. There’d be no avoiding Bruce now, he owed Dick an explanation if he'd kept Jason being back from the dead a secret from the rest of the family. “I think I’m going to go workout in the cave.” Might as well burn off some tension before Bruce got back.

-

“Jason’s back? Bruce, you had no right to keep this from me!” Dick shouted, when Bruce finally made an appearance in the Batcave. He dropped down from the rings and angrily approached his mentor.

“You seem to keep plenty of secrets yourself,” Bruce retorted turning on the Batcomputer and facing away from Dick. “Besides, you were busy in Bludhaven.”

“Don’t even try to deflect from the real issue. Where’s Jason? How’d he come back? How long did you know?”

“I don’t know where he is right now, or if he’s even still alive,” Bruce said.

Dick folded his arms “Bullshit. Why’d you hide this from me?”

Bruce sighed. “Because I knew you would react irrationally. Dick, I really can’t deal with you right now. I have a child I never knew about I have to raise, Jason might be back from the dead, and who knows what you’ve been up to lately-”

“Oh so this is my fault? I’ve helped you with Tim and Damian, in case you didn’t notice. And I would’ve helped you with the Red Hood case if you would have let me.”

Bruce’s fists clenched, and for a moment Dick thought he would punch him, but he seemed to hold himself back, gritting his teeth. “Dick, get out. Before I do something I regret.”

“Fine,” Dick said. “I need to get back to Bludhaven anyway.” Then he turned and stormed dramatically out of the cave.


	12. Chapter 12

Slade was silent as Dick ranted to him on the phone about Bruce. “And Jason was back and he never told me. And then he had the gall to complain I was over-reacting.” A part of Dick wondered how Bruce would react if he found out about Slade. Could he be much worse at this point? “And he complained about me not telling him every single detail about my love life, as if that’s any of his business.”

“I’d hope not,” Slade said dryly. “How about I come over, I have two things in mind that might help you feel better.”

“Sounds good.” Dick was curious what the second thing might be. Donuts? Slade had been indulging him with sugary treats from the bakery lately.

-

Slade was extremely rough this time, beating and shocking Dick with his own escrima sticks until he almost considered using the safeword. It did help though. Dick didn’t have time to think about how mad he was at Bruce while he writhed on the bed under Slade.

“Ungh,” Dick gasped, as Slade shocked the tender skin on his inner thigh and roughly fucked him. Dick finished unexpectedly when Slade shocked him again (and really Dick kind of had to admit to himself now that maybe he had a thing for pain), and Slade continued fucking him and finished with a grunt a few seconds later.

“Feeling better?” Slade teased, before biting at Dick’s neck.

“Jerk,” Dick grumbled, but he was starting to feel better. At least emotionally, and aside from the slight humiliation of being beaten with his own weapons. He shifted on the bed, and relaxed into Slade’s arms. “What was the other thing you had in mind to help me feel better?” Dick asked after a while, leaning up to give Slade a mischievous smile. He briefly wondered if it was ‘more sex’, but it could just as easily be a bakery treat.

Slade rolled onto his back and pulled Dick on top of him. “I came across a job I thought you might find interesting.”

Dick snorted. More testing security systems? Not that it wasn’t fun, but it had the potential to get old pretty quick. “Harry has another neighbor?” he asked.

“Not quite,” Slade said. “This is a bigger job, but with the reputation you’ve gotten from your satisfied customers, and my recommendation, I’m sure you could get it.” 

Dick frowned. “It doesn’t involve killing or anything illegal, does it?”

“No,” Slade said, rubbing a reassuring hand along Dick’s back. “It wouldn’t be too different from the jobs, you already worked, except you’d be more hands on with testing the guards, and you’d be doing it for Lex Luthor.”

“Luthor?” Dick sat up and pulled away from Slade with a scowl. “I’m not working for Luthor. I’m sure he’s up to no good, and I don’t particularly want to help him improve his nefarious plans.”

“Hmm, that’s the point though,” Slade said, giving Dick a small smile. “You’d get an inside look at one of his newest projects. And you could easily leave a few weaknesses you find out of the report.”

Dick folded his arms, but his expression softened. “You’re forgetting one giant drawback. What if Luthor discovers who I am? That’s not worth maybe finding a few things out about his security.”

Slade made a dismissive sound. “You can request to remain masked as part of your deal. It won’t make any difference for the activity.”

Dick narrowed his eyes. “So exactly what kind of activity is this?” 

“Prisoner transport. From his main office to an undisclosed location.”

Dick gaped at Slade for a few seconds, trying to process how many levels of wrong there were in this job. “So I’d be teaching Lex Luthor how to get better at abducting and experimenting on people? No thank you.”

“It wouldn’t be illegal, it’s for a contract he has with the Department of Corrections, to build a secure facility for dangerous individuals and Metas, until they can be transferred to Belle Reve. Possibly even to serve as an overflow facility if Belle Reve continues to be overcrowded.”

“Yeah, I think I’m going to pass on helping Lex Luthor get into the for-profit prison business,” Dick snarked. “The jobs with Harry and Ethel were fun, and with a much lower chance of ending up in a supervillain’s new top-secret prison.”

“Even in the unlikely event that Luthor were to double-cross you, I’m sure you could get out on your own. And if not, I’ll rescue you.” Slade gave a small shrug. “I thought I’d mention it since I thought you enjoyed dangerous challenges, and would appreciate the chance to get a preview of Lex’s newest project. But if it makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to take the job, obviously.”

Dick sighed. He knew Slade was right. He’d never turned a mission down before because it was dangerous. The idea of working for Luthor sounded like a hellaciously bad idea, but if it was just for one day, and he was able to get a preview of Luthor’s newest project? Maybe worth it. At least he hoped Bruce and the Justice League would agree when they read his eventual report (with the specifics of how he managed to get the information redacted). “Can I think about it?” he asked after a long pause. “It’s kind of a lot.”

“Take all the time you need,” Slade said, running a hand reassuringly along Dick’s thigh. It almost seemed as though he was smirking, and already knew what Dick’s eventual decision would be.

\---

It didn’t take too long to hash out all the details of the job, although it was weird to be emailing Lex, even if it was under Dick’s Julian alias, and it was also weird how diplomatic and charming Lex could be, when he was pretending to be an upstanding citizen instead of a supervillain. 

Lex had even sent Dick a long letter that described in detail how much he appreciated Julian taking the job, and how important the work was to national security, and that Julian’s role in all this was a pivotal part of making sure that this large prestigious project was successful, and that it ultimately would make the world a safer place for everyone. 

Dick printed the letter up so he could set it on fire, lighting a match as he held it over his kitchen sink.

Slade raised an eyebrow. “Are Luthor’s terms not to your liking?” he asked.

“No, I was just tired of Lex’s flowery, extra bullshit about how important the job is,” Dick said, watching as the flames licked up the paper and transformed the words into a blackened crumbly mess that flaked into the sink. He dropped the last piece a few seconds after the flames reached his fingertip, giving enough time for the fire to finish its work.

“Seems a bit dramatic,” Slade remarked, glancing pointedly at the charred mess in Dick’s sink. “But if it makes you feel better…”

“It does make me feel better about the job,” Dick said, and he allowed a little sarcasm to bleed into his voice as he faced Slade. “You know, aside from the assurances that ‘Luthor’s men know that if they seriously or permanently injure me it’s coming out of their own paychecks, and I’ll be extremely well-compensated if they do’. And aside from the fact that Lex is most certainly going to use anything he learns from this exercise to further his nefarious plan.”

Slade shrugged. “it’s not too late to back out. But then someone else will take the job.”

“I know,” Dick said, and he had considered it before, the fact that another person could take the job, maybe someone who was in it just for the money, and maybe that they’d even try to get injured on purpose. Dick taking the job was clearly the best-case scenario in this situation, and he was grateful that Slade had even let him know about it.

Slade moved up behind him and placed his hands loosely around Dick’s waist. “You know,” he said, leaning in so that Dick could feel the warmth of his body. “If you want to deal with your anger a different way, I might have a few suggestions.”

Dick leaned back into Slade’s arms and let out a sigh. “But not with my own escrima sticks this time. I don’t want to be too sore before a job.”

Slade just squeezed him tight.

\----

“Julian, how nice to meet you,” Lex greeted him at the office door, green eyes boring into him, or maybe Dick was just feeling paranoid. He gestured to a chair across from his desk. “Please, make yourself comfortable, and let me know if you have any concerns about the job.”

Dick accepted a brief handshake from Lex, and cautiously sat down. This was probably the first time Dick been in this particular building, at least by invitation.

“Would you like any refreshments before we get started?” Lex asked, playing the gracious host, though Dick wondered if the man was trying to find out how serious “Julian” was about the ‘no mask removal’ agreement part of their contract.

Dick shook his head.

“I apologize in advance if my men get a little rough,” Lex continued, not seeming to mind Dick’s silence. “They’re very good at what they do, and can get a little overenthusiastic. But that’s part of why I’m paying you so well, isn’t it?” Lex gave a small, predatory smile. “Deathstroke the Terminator assures me you’re extremely good. I’m curious as to what the outcome will be tonight.” Lex leaned forward, and continued smiling, as if he’d hired Dick for the evening’s entertainment instead. “But I suppose we’ll both find out in a few hours, won’t we?”

There were a lot of things Dick would like to say. Most included the line ‘you’re a piece of shit, Luthor’, but that really wouldn’t work well for his cover. Dick had a voice modulator in his mask this time, but Slade had agreed that not talking in general would be preferable, since there was no telling what information Luthor might try to get out of him. Still, it wouldn’t do to be completely rude. Dick shrugged. “I’ll do my best,” Dick said through the voice modulator.

“And I couldn’t ask for anything more,” Lex said, pressing a button on his desk. “You seem to be a man of few words, which I can appreciate, so we might as well get started now. Mercy will escort you to the guards.”

Luthor’s assistant entered, and Dick stood and followed her out of the room, feeling Lex’s eyes on him as he left. As much as Lex apparently wanted to watch, he wasn’t willing to risk having his office demolished to get a close view. Besides, there would be enough security cameras throughout the route to ensure that Lex was able to see almost everything.

-

Dick knew there were several routes the job could take, and he had opted to start cuffed with his arms behind him in one of Luthor’s small temporary holding cells, partially to have a few minutes to get a better look at the cuffs, and partially to give the guards an early advantage. Or as Slade would put it, the guards needed all the help they could get. Dick was also wearing an activated meta-suppressant collar, and even though it basically did nothing, it was gratifying to know that Luthor knew so little about him, even if it ultimately was a little uncomfortable. He couldn’t imagine how annoying it would be to wear one for years at a time at Belle Reve.

Naturally, it was no challenge for Dick to slip his legs through his arms in order to inspect his restraints. The cuffs were powered by some kind of internal energy, and moved fluidly around Dick’s wrists. He frowned and pulled at them, wondering where the locking mechanism was located. They didn’t have much give, and there was the potential that the guards had some kind of mechanism that controlled the cuffs. Dick experimentally knocked them against the wall, noting the increased electrical hum from the cuffs as he did. Perhaps they could be overloaded. If he _really_ wanted to escape, Dick could probably try to overload the cuffs with the suppressant collar, but he wasn’t about to try with Luthor watching, and he really wasn’t in the mood to accidentally get zapped unless he had to either.

Then all too soon, Luthor’s guards were lined up in front of his cell, barking orders at him. There were ten guards, which seemed like overkill, but this was Luthor, and the man would probably take every precaution in transporting and holding prisoners.

Dick complied with their orders, facing away from the door as they entered.

“Houdini already moved his cuffs to the front?” one of the guards asked as he grabbed Dick roughly by the shoulders.

“Want me to recuff him?” another guard asked.

“Nah, little shit will probably use the opportunity to escape,” he answered and gave Dick a rough shove.

Dick let his whole body relax, forcing the guard behind him to hold up his entire body weight.

“Fucking hell, stand up on your own, you little shit,” the guard exclaimed angrily, shoving Dick face first into the wall.

Dick nicknamed him Grumpy. Not that the rest of the guards weren’t grumpy, but he seemed especially prone to anger, and Dick wondered what Grumpy’s personal life was like, and regretted for a moment that personal information on the guards wasn’t required for this job. 

The guards beat and kicked Dick for far longer than he personally thought was necessary, considering the situation, which only reinforced his idea that they all had anger issues, and when they finally finished, he walked shakily along, choosing to bide his time and wait for an opening later. It was a good thing he had a high pain tolerance.


	13. Chapter 13

Dick acted more injured than he was, walking slowly with a slight limp and offering no resistance as the guards guided him through unmarked halls. Initially he had planned on going easy on them, but since Grumpy and the others turned out to be so violent, he had decided that it was only fair to rough them up about as much as they had roughed him up.

Grumpy ended up giving Dick the perfect opportunity. They were still inside the building, so in terms of actually escaping it was less than ideal (but in terms of messing with the guards it was indeed ideal, since they would likely be much more alert when they first took him outside the building.

“Guess Houdini learned his lesson,” Grumpy said, lightly shoving at Dick’s shoulder to prove a point, and sneering at his limp.

A few of the other guards didn’t seem exactly comfortable with Grumpy’s level of sadism, but they didn’t do anything to stop it either. They gave Dick and Grumpy a little distance, seeming to think that Grumpy easily had the prisoner under control.

“It’s your paycheck it’s coming out of if he gets hurt,” one of the guards from the back remarked. Dick decided to name him Timid.

Grumpy snorted. “As soon as Mr. Luthor sees how smoothly this whole thing goes, he won’t care. Besides, we only get money deducted for serious injury. Houdini will be fine in a couple of days.”

Dick pretended to stumble when Grumpy was occupied talking, then swiftly brought his leg around and knocked Grumpy off his feet. The other guards stared in shock and surprise for a few seconds, and Dick took advantage of the time to sweep two more off their feet, then took off running down the hall. 

He could hear them struggling and shouting behind him, and knew there wasn’t really anywhere for him to go – the collar had a tracking chip, and he doubted the halls led anywhere useful on this level. And the lack of windows seriously limited his options. There were ceiling tiles though, and the air vents were on the ceiling, which likely meant that it was a dropped ceiling built to cover the ductwork and wiring. And if he was lucky, Dick might be able to force one of them open and crawl above the ceiling for a while. (Which surely would make Lex replace any dropped ceilings in the entire building).

Dick rounded a corner, then sprung into the air and kicked one of the tiles. Fortunately, the material was lightweight enough that it broke. Lex’s contractors must have cut corners to save a little money. Dick jumped again, only high enough to grab onto the edge of an unbroken tile with his cuffed hands, and carefully, slowly pull himself up, curling around to lift his legs through and onto the other side of the tiles. Dick rolled away from the opening, wincing as he felt another of the tiles crack. He carefully placed the broken tile onto the opening, covering it as well as he could. He doubted he’d fool the guards for long, but most people tended to not look up at the ceiling very closely.

Dick slowly and carefully crawled along one of the support beams. The air smelled stale, and there was barely enough room to fit between the support beam and the actual ceiling, but he was sure it would be worth every second to see the expressions on the guard’s faces. He could hear the guards shouting to each other, sounding confused.

“He should be right here,” one of them said.

Dick cursed under his breath as he remembered the tracker in his suppressant collar. He froze in place, listening intently.

“It’s gotta be malfunctioning or something,” another guard said. “He’s not here, so maybe it’s off.”

“Maybe he broke into one of the other cells, and is hiding right next to the door,” a third guard suggested. 

Dick started tentatively crawling forward again, noting a branch off in the duct work ahead. That would mean a different room, and hopefully he could just drop in, since it was very likely that one of the guards would notice debris on the ground at some point.

He heard more grumbling from below, then Grumpy shouted: “Fuck my life, Houdini’s in the ceiling!”

Dick crawled as fast as he dared. He might not have time to get to another room, but if he got closer to the air duct, it would provide a somewhat solid surface for him to lean against for support and fight the guards as they came up.

“Are you sure?” another guard asked. “How would he even get up there?”

“More importantly, how do we get him down?” Timid asked.

There was a crash, and Grumpy took down a section of the ceiling. “We’ll take it all down, and shoot him with a tranquilizer dart,” he said.

Dick grimaced. So much for his plan of fighting them. He decided to try to reach the other room anyway. Maybe with the distraction and destruction Grumpy was causing, Dick might be able to slip out unnoticed in the confusion.

“I thought Luthor said we had to let him test all aspects of the transport,” Timid said.

“We’ll just give him half a dose, enough to drop him down,” Grumpy said, sounding like he was convincing himself. “He’ll be lucid enough by the time we report and continue. Besides, if it was a normal meta transport, we’d be able to tranq them, no problem.”

“I think the collar isn’t working,” Timid said. “Guys gotta be a meta. There’s no way a human could do what he’s done. And going after a full-powered meta wasn’t part of the deal.”

They all made noises of agreement, and then started arguing over who should contact Lex about the collar malfunctioning, and elected Timid.

Dick snorted and imagined Lex facepalming as he watched his guards on the security cameras. More importantly, Dick had reached the area where the air duct branched off. Sadly, the air duct looked a little too small to crawl through, but there was just enough room to squeeze by the side of it, and into the next room’s ceiling. 

Since Dick had no idea what to expect, he popped one of the ceiling tiles out and peered down. It looked like the guard break room, complete with mini kitchen, tables, couch and a television. There was also a computer on one side.

Dick dropped down, landing silently on the couch. Then he went to the doorway, and watched for a few minutes as Timid tried to explain to the other guards that Lex had told them to “figure it out themselves.”, and Grumpy angrily pulled down ceiling tiles.

Dick quietly shut the door, and latched it from the inside, then he made a beeline for the computer. It wasn’t connected to the main system, but it was easy enough to hack in as an admin and add it. Then Dick was able to hack in and find the controls for his own collar and cuffs, and deactivated both. The cuffs seemed to lose their charge, and slid easily off his wrists. Dick slipped the cuffs into his pocket, surely they’d be fun to dissect and play with later. Then he hacked into Luthor’s personal files on his for-profit meta prison, and saved them to two different flash drives. Since he was certain Lex was monitoring everything he did, he planned to give one as ‘part of the test’.

Then Dick searched the cupboards in the kitchen and popped a bag of microwave popcorn that he found, and stood by the tiny window in the kitchen door, shoving popcorn under his mask as he waited for the guards to figure out what was going on. (The other option would be to sneak through the facility and break into Lex’s office, and as fun as that would be, Dick really didn’t want to get too much scrutiny from Lex for being _too_ good. 

It took about five minutes, and Timid noticing that the tracker wasn’t working anymore, and for Grumpy to wonder why he smelled popcorn for the guards to notice Dick and start angrily pounding on the door. 

“Tell your boss to get down here, I think I’ve won,” Dick teased, enjoying the looks of frustration on their faces. It was far more satisfying than beating them up would have been.

Dick found a pint of ice cream in the freezer, and started eating it while the guards fumed, and they all waited for Lex to arrive.

-

Lex was not pleased, but he had a grudging sort of awe on his face as he surveyed the damage to the ceiling and the mess that filled the corridor.

“Julian,” Lex said as he frowned at the closed door. “You can come out now, I think you’ve made your point.”

Dick unlocked the door and watched the guards warily. Grumpy’s hands twitched, but he stayed behind Lex, waiting for a sign from his boss.

“I think we’re done for today,” Dick said, stretching and throwing the empty ice cream carton in the trash.

Lex’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, thank you. This was most educational. I expect a full report this weekend and the contents of your flash drive now.”

Dick nodded, and handed Lex the first flash drive and the suppression collar. “I’ll send the report as soon as I write it,” he said through the voice modulator.

Lex pocketed the collar and flash drive, then held his hand out expectantly. “The cuffs, Julian.”

Dick sighed, then handed the deactivated cuffs over. As much as he wanted to get a better look at them, at least now he mostly understood how they worked.

“Don’t we need to finish testing the rest of the route?” Timid asked.

Lex whirled and faced the guards. “Oh, there absolutely will be another test of the route, but I have to hire a new group of guards first. You’re all fired.”

Dick felt a little bad. Yeah, the guards were all jerks, but he didn’t want them to lose their jobs over him. Even if they did work for Lex Luthor, and would likely be safer not working for a supervillain. Maybe he could anonymously send them a list of job openings at Wayne Enterprises.

“I’ll just let myself out,” Dick said, slipping past the group.

“Thanks again for your work,” Lex said as Dick left. “I hope you accept the next contract once I have things sorted here.”

Dick nodded, and headed for the nearest exit that he had unlocked earlier, while hacking Lex’s systems.

-


	14. Chapter 14

Dick was in his Bludhaven apartment, going through Lex’s top-secret files when Slade let himself in. He seemed to come and go whenever he pleased now, like a cat, although Dick definitely wasn’t complaining, most of the time. There had been a few times when Slade had come over right after a job and accidentally left blood stains on the floor, which had Dick issuing a ‘no coming over until you’ve at least washed the blood of your latest mark off’ ultimatum, because seriously, he was still uncomfortable with Slade killing people for money (even if they mostly were bad guys), and even if he wasn’t, nobody wanted blood stains on their floor. Slade had so readily agreed to the rule that Dick wondered if the Mercenary had made the messes on purpose, to see what Dick would do.

“I understand congratulations are in order,” Slade said, crossing the room to stand behind Dick and start rubbing his shoulders. “Luthor contacted me to let me know he was extremely pleased with my recommendation.”

Dick relaxed into Slade’s touch, not realizing how much tension he had in his shoulders. “His security guards were rough, they counted too much on being able to physically intimidate the prisoner, and were easy to fool.”

Slade dug in deeper to Dick’s shoulders. “Still, Lex was impressed. And he hopes you’ll return to finish the job once he finishes repairs on his building, and hires a new team.”

Dick flinched as Slade hit a sore tight spot. “I think I’ll pass. I was able to get most of the information about Lex’s project this time, and it’s not exactly my idea of a fun time to get beaten while handcuffed.”

Slade lightened his touch, but kept pressing into the sore spot. “You have plenty of time to decide, but if Lex makes significant changes, you might want to take the job again to keep an eye on things.”

Dick groaned and snapped his laptop shut. Slade was probably right. “Yeah, I might, I just don’t want to think about it right now.”

“Of course,” Slade said, smoothing his hands over Dick’s shoulders as the muscles relaxed. “We should celebrate your success, first, shouldn’t we?”

Dick liked the sound of that. Usually Slade rewarded him with a treat from the bakery or really enjoyable sex. Not that the sex they normally had wasn’t enjoyable, but well, it felt different to have Slade on his knees in front of him. “Are you going to get me a cake? With ‘congratulations, you made Lex Luthor happy’ on top?” he teased.

Slade snorted and lightly hit Dick’s shoulder. “I’ll get you one cupcake, and you can choose whatever you want to do in bed.”

“One dozen cupcakes,” Dick corrected, “and does that mean I get to top?”

“One dozen cupcakes,” Slade said, sighing and looking up towards the ceiling as if Dick’s requests would be the death of him. “And you’re already enough of a pain in my ass,” he teased, “but maybe next time, once you finish Lex’s job we could switch it up.”

Honestly, Dick was surprised he so easily got Slade to agree to, or at least consider everything he asked for. He decided to push his advantage, see how far he could get. “And get the variety pack cupcakes,” he said. “That’s the advantage of having cupcakes over a cake, you can mix and match and get all the flavors you want. Get the ones with sprinkles and red velvet, and one of whatever else they have. And I’ll have you know, I already finished Lex’s job, it’s not my fault he had to extend it while finishing a construction project, and hiring new people.” Dick paused, considering Slade’s words. “Oh, and that was a pretty funny joke, I’m so proud of you!”

“Maybe I should give you a spanking too, you’re turning into a brat,” Slade said, but the tone of his voice was fond.

Dick stood up and threw his arms around Slade’s neck. “Yes, but you love it. Admit it.”

Slade smacked Dick’s ass. “I can’t complain too much,” he grumbled. “But you’re still getting a spanking,” Slade said, squeezing Dick’s backside. “Five hits for every cupcake I have to get you. Still want a dozen?”

Dick scowled, then yelped as Slade smacked him again, hitting a sore spot where the guards had left one of their many bruises. “Luthor’s men were a little, overenthusiastic about being rough,” Dick said, pressing up against Slade. “I’m still a little sore everywhere.”

Slade did not look impressed, and just raised an eyebrow. “So, you don’t want as many cupcakes?” he asked.

Dick considered for a moment, decided if it was worth it. “I want all twelve.”

Slade’s expression turned sadistically pleased, and he dragged Dick over to the couch, and pulled him over his lap. “Sixty is a lot, he said,” pulling Dick’s pants down and running his hand over the swell of his ass. “You should count so I don’t lose track.” Then he started raining powerful blows on Dick’s backside, and alternating with lighter stinging slaps that made Dick flinch and yelp. It was difficult to keep count, but Dick managed.

Later, when Dick ate all twelve cupcakes at once, he decided that the aching pain in his backside was definitely worth it.

-

Bruce was hunched over the Batcomputer, scowling when Dick plunked down a copy of the flash drive with all Lex Luthor’s newest secrets on the desk. Bruce blinked and looked up, he looked even more tired than he had last time, with more lines etched into his face, and accentuated by his frown. “Dick, I’m glad you’re here. We need to talk.”

“We can talk about how I just finished an undercover operation to bring you and the Justice League all the preliminary details on Lex Luthor’s for-profit prison plans,” Dick said, not in the mood to put up with whatever stressed out guilt-tripping nonsense Bruce had planned.

Bruce’s gaze hardened. “You should have coordinated with me, if you were going undercover, and yes, I’ve already seen all the details of everything you’ve done.” He stood up, towering over Dick. “Did you really think the Justice League had no idea what Luthor was up to? That they weren’t already monitoring the situation?”

“I don’t have to coordinate with you to work a case!” Dick shouted. After how hard he’d worked, everything he’d done, it was infuriating that Bruce treated him this way, like a misbehaving child, like he didn’t know what he was doing. “I found an opportunity and I took it. You’re welcome by the way.”

“Did ‘going undercover’ involve sleeping with Slade Wilson?” Bruce shouted his face reddening. “And refusing to answer me when I specifically asked about the injuries he caused you?”

“You’re such a hypocrite, Bruce,” Dick said, and he could hear his voice shaking a little, with anger. “As if you never dated Catwoman or Talia.”

Bruce seemed to calm just a little. “Catwoman is different. And Talia, was a mistake. Dick, I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did. I want better for you.”

Dick snorted. “You have a funny way of showing it. And you never told me about Jason, so I guess the not communicating goes both ways.”

“No,” Bruce said. “You were out of line, and should have at least coordinated with Superman before going after intel on Lex. I can’t trust you wight now, you’re benched until you figure your life out.”

Dick felt his stomach drop. It was just like when Bruce had fired him as Robin all over again. But worse, because he was an adult on his own this time, and Bruce had no right to tell him what to do. He felt his face heating up. “You can’t take Nightwing away from me, Bruce! I’m an adult, Nightwing is mine!”

“Then start acting like a responsible adult, Dick, you sound like a child,” Bruce snapped. “You obviously haven’t been making good decisions lately, letting Deathstroke beat you, creating that absurd alias and getting into mercenary work, and going behind my back and lying about it all.” Bruce sighed deeply. “If you keep running around with Deathstroke as Calendar Man’s secret son, I might have to send you to Arkham with Jason for your own good.”

Dick’s thought processes ground to a halt. There was way too much to unpack in what Bruce had just said. “Wait, Jason is in Arkham? When did that happen?” he asked quietly.

“A few days ago,” Bruce said. “I know it’s not ideal, but he was a danger to both Damian and Tim. I thought it’d give him time to cool down, think.”

Dick folded his arms across his chest. He could understand Bruce’s reasoning, even if he didn’t think it was the best option. As much as he cared about Jason, he didn’t want either Damian or Tim to get seriously hurt. Which is why it hurt that Bruce would lump him in the same category, (and it also hurt that Dick really didn’t know what was going on with Jason, since Bruce had never even let him work on the case). “And what? You think I’m a danger to Damian and Tim as well?”

“You have the potential to be a bad influence,” Bruce said clenching his fist at his side as if getting ready for a fight. “And you are a danger to yourself if you continue on this path. I don’t want you around Damian or Tim until you get things together.”

That hurt more than anything else Bruce had ever done, and Dick felt a tear leak down his cheek. “You can’t keep me away from my brothers, Bruce, that’s too low, even for you.”

“It’s not permanent,” Bruce said, his voice lowering, “just temporary until you stop working jobs with Deathstroke, and start making better choices.”

Dick choked back a sob. Obviously, he wouldn’t get anywhere with Bruce. He was surprised the man hadn’t hit him, honestly. “Fine,” he said. “I guess I have some things to figure out.” Then he turned and walked slowly out of the cave.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading! (You get 3 chapters in one day, since I have no posting schedule, lol)

Slade had an idea what was going on when he didn’t hear from Dick all day. He stopped at the bakery on the way to Dick’s apartment to pick up a tray of brownies, the kind that Dick liked with gaudy frosting and sprinkles.

-

Dick’s eyes were red-rimmed, and his face was tear-streaked as he sat dejectedly on the couch. Slade sat down next to him, placed the tray of brownies into his lap, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Rough day?” Slade asked.

Dick flinched and scowled, shoving the brownies to one side, and peeling Slade’s arm off his shoulder. “Bruce found out,” he blurted out. His voice sounded strained, as if he’d been crying for a long time.

“I see,” Slade said, moving slightly to give Dick space. He was well aware of how loyal Dick was to Bruce, and the fallout from their fight could easily go in a way that Slade hadn’t intended. It was a risk he was willing to take, considering the potential payout if things went his way.

“He’s making me choose,” Dick continued. His voice wavered and tears started leaking out of his eyes. “I have to stop seeing you, stop working those jobs you found for me, otherwise Bruce won’t let me see Tim and Damian again.”

“That sounds like a big decision,” Slade said, keeping his voice neutral. “Not the kind of thing to decide on an empty stomach.”

Dick snorted, a wet sound from crying so much, and shoved one of the brownies in his mouth. He leaned back and melted into the couch, his expression softening as he enjoyed the food.

“Whatever you decide, I’ll respect your decision,” Slade said, keeping his eye on Dick’s expression.

“I don’t want to choose,” Dick whispered. “I can’t give up Tim, Damian, Nightwing, everything I ever worked for. I just can’t.”

“Maybe if you wait until he cools down, he’d be willing to accept a compromise,” Slade suggested.

Dick’s expression darkened. “I doubt it. He threatened to throw me in Arkham, he already put Jason there, and he said he couldn’t trust me anymore.”

“Do you think he’ll trust you again, when you do what he says?” Slade asked, holding back his excitement. This was going to be far easier than expected.

“No, I…” Dick looked about ready to burst into tears again. “I don’t know why Bruce is like this, and I don’t know how to make him happy, proud of me. He never was.”

“Ultimately, whatever you do is your decision,” Slade said, tentatively stretching his arm across Dick’s shoulders. “But if it was me, I would give him space, do what I wanted for a change, and give him the opportunity to come to his senses. If he never appreciated you before, what makes you think he’ll appreciate you agreeing so quickly to his demands?”

Dick’s lower lip wobbled, and then he shoved his face into Slade’s shoulder and burst into tears.

Slade rubbed Dick’s back soothingly, unable to hold back a wicked grin that filled his face for a few seconds. “I have connections all over the world,” Slade said, keeping his voice comforting. “We could go anywhere, work jobs together, enjoy ourselves for a few months.”

Dick sniffed, and rubbed his hand over his face. “It’d just be temporary though? Until Bruce cools down?”

“Of course,” Slade lied. “Think of it as a long working vacation.”

Dick gave Slade a long suspicious look. “And you’d let me send any importation I find to the Justice League or Batman?”

“Yes,” Slade said. And perhaps he would let Dick send a few things through, as long as Slade approved of the information first.

Dick reached for another brownie. “Would I be working as Renegade?” he asked, searching Slade’s face as he shoved the brownie in his mouth.

“The identity is available if you want it,” Slade replied, keeping his face carefully neutral.

Dick nodded and slumped back into the couch, looking defeated. “That makes the most sense, I think I might work as Renegade with you, at least for a while.”

“Let me know when you’ve packed your things,” Slade said. “I’ll charter a private flight for us when you’re ready to leave.”

-

Batman came crashing through Slade’s safehouse window, leaving a shower of shattered glass on the floor.

Slade sighed at the mess. He’d intended to leave the area to avoid such a confrontation, but Dick insisted on staying until he’d said all his goodbyes, including his brothers, Bruce, and the bat currently in Arkham. Apparently telling Bruce he was leaving to work with Slade as Renegade hadn’t gone over well.

“What now?” Slade demanded, shooting Batman a glare strong enough to counter his own.

“Wilson,” Batman rasped, and he sounded angrier than usual, with a side of sadness and stress mixed in. “I know what you’ve been doing to Nightwing, and I won’t let you get away with it.” There was just a touch of desperation in his voice, which really completed the whole effect.

“I haven’t done anything,” Slade said. When Batman’s glare intensified, he amended. “Well, I barely did anything. I just took a few opportunities where I saw them. Dick made every choice on his own. And you drove him right into my arms.” Slade smirked, and picked his glass of whiskey from the end table, and held it up to Batman as if in a toast. “Thanks for that by the way. I never could have gotten Renegade back without you.”

“You’re lying,” Batman growled, but there was more uncertainty in his voice now.

Slade laughed. “You know it’s true. He was so starved for praise and affection a few years ago, he would have done anything to get you to notice him. He even got himself injured a few times. You’re lucky I noticed instead of a worse villain.”

Batman visibly drooped. “He never told me, I thought-”

“You thought all the support he needed was neglect when he did well, and being punched in the face or lectured when he didn’t?” And okay, that was close enough to how Slade had raised his own kids to cause a surge of discomfort. But this was about Dick, and Batman, so Slade ignored his own feelings of guilt and continued. “It takes a bad parent to know one, Batman,” Slade sneered.

Batman seemed to hunch even more in on himself, wracked with guilt. “No,” he whispered, sounding horrified with himself. Almost as if he had had recently had another fight with Dick.

Slade narrowed his eyes. “Let me guess, Grayson’s goodbye tour didn’t go over well with you and you hit him again.” Slade clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Not that I really mind, he’s always so needy and pliable after you hurt him, but it takes _so_ long to comfort him, and I had hoped to be out of town by now.”

Batman made a strangled noise, then slunk back through the window and into the night.

***

Epilogue

***

The bruise covering half of Dick’s face didn’t surprise Slade at all, but the fact that he arrived at the chartered plane before Slade, and greeted Slade with a happy smile on his face was surprising. Slade frowned. Not that he minded Dick being happy of course, but he’d expected Dick would be in need of lots of consoling (and had looked forward to it too).

“I take it things didn’t go well with Bruce?” he asked.

Dick rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but that’s okay. He’s not my only family after all.”

There was a crash and cursing from further back in the plane. Dick whirled, then turned back to Slade with a mischievous smile on his face. “I broke Jason out of Arkham, thought he could come with us. He gets a little dangerous sometimes, but I figured it’s nothing we can’t handle.” Dick stood on his toes to peck a kiss on the side of Slade’s mouth. “Thanks again for all your help. I should go check on Jason, and keep an eye on him during the flight.”

“…” Slade said, standing in the middle of his chartered plane, and reconsidering all of his life choices. Dick was Renegade again, that meant he was Slade’s didn’t it? 


End file.
